


dance me very tenderly and dance me very long

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Angst, Apologies, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new teacher in BHHS and Stiles is about as curious as the next guy about him. That is to say, not a lot. A new teacher holds about as much interest for him as listening to Scott giving him a complete re-telling of his date with Allison for the second time. Stiles will listen distractedly, grunt at the right times and try to change the subject to one where he can contribute as well.</p><p>It's only when Stiles hears some girls tittering over the new teacher's good looks that Stiles feels more than the faintest vestiges of curiosity. </p><p>or </p><p>AU where Stiles heard everyone at school talking about the new dance teacher Derek Hale, so he decided to check out the dance classes, but what he saw wasn’t what he expected</p>
            </blockquote>





	dance me very tenderly and dance me very long

**Author's Note:**

> This ~~evil monster of a~~ fic was inspired by [this photoset](http://mysnarkyself.tumblr.com/post/61435744745/teen-wolf-au-sterek-au-stiles-heard-everyone) by Vici. Originally I wrote [this short fic](http://onelastwaltz.tumblr.com/post/61668142281/analphahale-teen-wolf-au-sterek-au-stiles) to go with it but I got a lot of requests to write more so. I did.
> 
> And this fic wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Bubbles. I'm not even kidding. If she hasn't pushed/poked/prodded me into finishing this, it would have languished in my WIP's to the end of time! So MAJOR thanks to her!
> 
> This is half beta'd.
> 
> Title taken from the lyrics of 'Dance Me to the End of Love'.

There's a new teacher in BHHS and Stiles is about as curious as the next guy about him. That is to say, not a lot. A new teacher holds about as much interest for him as listening to Scott giving him a complete re-telling of his date with Allison for the second time. Stiles will listen distractedly, grunt at the right times and try to change the subject to one where he can contribute as well.  


It's only when Stiles hears some girls tittering over the new teacher's good looks that Stiles feels more than the faintest vestiges of curiosity. Especially when all three of the girls sigh dramatically like they're the triplets from Beauty and the Beast and the teacher is Gaston. Stiles snickers to himself at the comparison, wandering around the building in search of the right room.  


He peeks into different classes as he walks down the hallway - there's chess club, mathletes, a spirited meeting or two and _whoa_! Stiles feels his eyes widen at the sight before him. He feels a tiny bit bad for doubting the girls when they had declared the new dance teacher a complete hottie. But he also wants to go back there and tell them that 'hottie' was a _complete_ understatement.  


This guy is like... he's like a Greek god! He's frickin' Apollo! He's a wet dream come to life! Okay, he might not share that one, Stiles doesn't really feel comfortable telling random strangers that he's into guys _and_ girls. Not that he's ashamed or anything of his bisexuality! Just that it's no one else's business.  
Stiles glances back at the blackboard. Derek Hale. Wait. Not, _that_ Derek Hale? As in Deputy Hale's little brother? As in the guy Stiles had a teeny tiny hero crush on when he was six? No wait. He'd been eight. (It had only lasted a few weeks and only because the guy's Halloween costume was the Red Power Ranger okay! And not because Derek had shared a Snickers bar with him, no matter what anyone else might say.)  


Laura's never mentioned that her brother grew to be so good looking that he could cause spontaneous orgasms by smiling! Granted, he can't think of a way where you can work that fact into conversation but Stiles wants to complain to Laura about this.  


Derek's leaning back on the teacher's desk, biceps flexing as he does so. Stiles sternly tells his knees to get a damn grip and leans a little harder on the closed door. If he can't handle a little bit of flexing muscle then... well, how's he supposed to succeed in life?  


Derek's voice is too low for him to make out through the closed door but Stiles' imagination fills in the auditory blank on it's own. A guy who looks like that probably has a voice that's smoother than melted chocolate. Just as sinful too. Husky and a little dark, the kind of voice that's one bad cold away from a sex voice.  


' _Bad Stiles!'_ he scolds himself, wincing quickly. _'Don't think shit like that! He's a teacher!'_ A super hot teacher, his libido sighs dreamily at him. Stiles tries not to groan at his terrible self control.  


The teacher smiles at the small crowd in front of him, answering a few questions before he gestures at the lady near the back. Wait. Isn't that Ms. Morell, the school councellor? Stiles watches her press a few buttons on the stereo player resting on a table as the students quickly clear the tables away.  


Are they going to give a demonstration? Stiles wonders, sticking his head a little more up. What kind of dancing does the guy know anyways? And Ms. Morell knew how to dance too? It’s a day for all kinds of surprises. His hand is already slipping into his pocket, mindlessly looking for his phone. If they're good, he totally wants a video. For reasons.  


The group inside winces as the song begins to play, the low strains of music audible to Stiles as well. Ms. Morell looks flustered as she tries to lower the volume but whatever Derek says to her makes her back away. Not that Stiles is complaining because he gets to hear the music as well.  


He doesn't recognize the song but it doesn't stop him from lightly bopping his head to the beat. A good song is a good song right? Derek is talking over the music, using his hands in small gestures as he explains something to the students in front of him. Some of them look bored out of their mind, a few look genuinely interested but most of them look a few seconds away from actually drooling. Stiles relates with the last group.  


Derek gestures for Ms. Morell to come forward, taking hold of her hand and then...  


Stiles' knees actually give out, his sneakers squeaking embarrassingly loud as the man shakes his thang. Holy _cheese sticks_! How is he managing to move his hips like that when he's wearing those skinny jeans?!  


Stiles' brain splutters and backfires, unable to compute anything as Derek twirls Ms. Morell snug against his front, arm holding her close before they turn in place before straightening up and moving back with a few shakes. Oh to be the butt that gets to rub against _that_ crotch, Stiles thinks enviously.  


But that thought goes out the fucking window when the teacher steps forward, hands sliding down the _ridiculous_ shirt Derek's wearing (a dance teacher wearing a musical note pattern shirt?! That is _stupidly_ dorky!)  


Stiles stares at Derek's hands resting on Ms. Morell's waist with an increasingly terrible case of cotton mouth. The man has seriously nice hands - strong, sturdy. Stiles wants them all over him, like yesterday.  


His mouth falls open when the teacher grins and quickly begins to unbutton his shirt, eyes ticking to Derek and then the students as he tries to ask, 'Is that allowed? Is this legal? Can he show off man cleavage on school grounds?' Stiles has the biggest urge to _yell_ that question to the fucking _universe_ when the man hooks his thumb, his stupid, manly thumb, into his jeans and rolls his hips like he's a Chippendale dancer or something.  


Another sharp twirl and Ms. Morell in front in Derek, back to his front with a few inches between them. They begin to move as one to the side, their hips rolling, with short quick steps that make the teachers' skirt sway with quick little snaps.  


There's a _noise_ born in the back of his throat when Derek hooks a thumb into the belt of his low riding jeans (Stiles is _certain_ that he'll be having fantasies about those two thick veins under Derek's belly button. They're visible every time Derek shakes his hips and makes his untucked shirt twist. They're like neon signs pointing down to what lies below under that low, low waistline) and gently pulls down.  


If his hands weren't busy keeping himself up by hanging onto the window ledge, Stiles would have used them to flap his shirt because he _swears_ that the temperature just went up by like 10 degrees. Is ballroom dancing supposed to be this sexy? And here he had thought that it was all proper and stuff. Stiles feels lied too.  


It only gets worse when Ms. Morell puts a hand on Derek's chest (Stiles wants to be that hand, wants to be it so _bad_ ), grinning at him. Derek grins back, grabbing her and twirling her around him in this complicated move that makes Stiles' gape in amazement. And if _that's_ not enough, Ms. Morell's hands go the belt of Derek's jeans and-  


Nope.  


Stiles' clammy hands give out, making him slide to the ground in a graceless, and _loud_ , pile. His head smacks into the window sill on the way down, added insult to injury. Stiles groans, covers his forehead and lets his frustrations out in the form of a loud, "Son of a _bitch_!"  


He tries not to feel like the world’s biggest klutz as his hand tries to rub the pain away when he hears a door being opened. Stiles freezes, hand still covered by his face. ' _Don't let it be him, please don't let it be him._ ' Stiles begs. "Are you alright?" A concerned low voice asks him.  
Cautiously, Stiles lowers his hand and stares up at the teachers standing before him. Oh look at that. Derek's shirt is still unbuttoned and now his chest is sweaty. How unfortunately fortunate.  


Stiles feels like his brain is going to start pouring out of his ears or something if he keeps staring at Derek's perfect body. He can _not_ understand how the gangly pre-teen he used to know has grown into the man standing in front of him! Did he make a deal with the devil or something? It's the only logical explanation...  


Stiles looks behind Derek, at the few curious students standing behind the pair, judging him with their raised eyebrows. The blond in particular is looking at him like he's lower than dirt. And now he feels more like himself. Those are the looks he's more used to seeing.  


Ms. Morell is stepping forward, heels clicking as she asks, "Stiles? Are you alright?" She crouches down in front of him, hands sweeping her skirt down as she does so.  


Stiles drags his gaze away from Derek and towards Ms. Morell's concerned face. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just hit my head a little." He presses his fingers lightly on the sore spot, wincing at the goose egg he feels there. Well, that's gonna hurt for a few days.  


It's totally the wrong thing to say because it's captured Derek's attention. Stiles wants to wail in a mixture of agony and delight when the man's bare chest comes within his reach.  


"Stiles?" Dere asks, thick eyebrows turning down in a frown. Oh come _on_! His voice is _worse_ than melted chocolate! It's cool and low like he's mint toothpaste or mint chocolate chip ice cream! "Stiles Stilinski?"  


Stiles stares at the man as he crouches down next to him, looking at the teenager with his really, _really_ pretty eyes. "Yeeeeeah?" Stiles replies, dragging the word out in his uncertainty. Does this mean what he thinks it means?  


Derek smiles at him, showing off his dimples. "I don't know if you remember me or not but I'm-"  


"Derek Hale." Stiles cuts him off with a tiny grin. Well. This is an unexpected twist of fate. "Yeah, I remember. It's good to see you again. It's been a while." Only a decade but hey, who's counting? Not Stiles, that's for sure.  


Ms. Morell is looking between them with confusion, "You know each other?"  


He waits for it. Derek's going to tell Ms. Morell that Stiles was the eight year old who kept following Derek around for three months after Halloween, gushing about Power Rangers and X-Men and generally making a pain of himself around the thirteen year old boy. There's a world of embarrassment in his future and Stiles would appreciate it if the ground will open up before that and swallow him whole.  


Stiles glances over at Derek, wary and ready to bolt if necessary. Derek's looking at him with a gentle look in his eyes. "Yes. We know each other."  


Oh. Stiles thinks dumbly, heart doing its best to samba it's way out of his chest. Oh _shit._ No. No, no, _no!_ He doesn't need this! He doesn't! The Lydia thing was bad enough, Stiles doesn't need another unattainable crush on an insanely attractive person! This is _terrible_! He needs to beat a hasty retreat (and beat off too).  


Stiles hops up to his feet, already checking for an escape route when Ms. Morell sweeps up and asks, "Did you come here to check the dance club out?"  


"Uuuuuh," Stiles answers, eyes ticking back to Derek before he answers, "Yeah."  


"Interested in joining?" Derek asks this time. There's a surprisingly intense look in his pale eyes that makes Stiles' hesitate in his answer.  


And that's all it takes for Ms. Morell to happily clap her hands and declare, "Perfect! The more the merrier!" before she turns towards the others, telling that that's all for today and that they will start tomorrow after school in the school auditorium.  


"But..." Stiles tries to argue, watching the woman wave the students away.  


He takes a step forward, ready to argue that no, he's not interested in joining, he'd just come to take a look! Not sign up for extracurricular activities! Stiles has better things to do after school! More important things! Like playing games and goofing off on the Internet!  


Derek suddenly comes between Stiles and Ms. Morell, smiling at the teenager in a way that makes him freeze. "You'll be coming tomorrow, right?"  


His brain freezes, tongue ties itself into a knot and his vocabulary goes up in a plume of smoke and fire thanks to Derek's blinding grin. "Uuuuh yeah?" Stiles answers weakly. "I guess so?"  


There's a big hand patting his shoulder, small touches that make Stiles want to jump out of his skin. "Great! See you then!"  


Wait. Stiles watches Derek walk away from him with a rising sense of dread before he yelps, "What the hell just happened?!"  


\--  


"Why are we here again?" Scott asks, looking around at the rather large group that's collected in the school auditorium. His best friend is standing next him, looking towards the entrance as they wait for Allison to show up. Stiles however, is eyeing the students around them with a lazy kind of curiosity that is born out of boredom.  


Stiles tries not to sigh before he answers Scott's question _again_. "Because I could use the moral support and this could be fun." He repeats, leaning back as he speaks. There's a flash of red hair that's catches his eye. Is that Lydia? Stiles leans forward to keep through the tiny gap available between two girls.  


He catches sight of the girl dragging Jackson along with her. It might be his imagination but Stiles can make out a determined gleam in her eyes as she stands near the front of the crowd that is decidedly rather feminine in nature.  


“Plus!” Stiles says, bouncing on his toes as wonders how many girls have gathered in the hall. It can't be that they're _all_ interested in dancing. If he has to make a wild guess, they're all probably here to see Derek and his smooth moves. Stiles would judge them for that if he wasn't here for the same reason. “Didn’t you say that Allison already knows how to dance? It’d be a good couple-y thing to do together. She could teach how to do... dance things.”  


As Scott gave a judgemental look for that one. Stiles can’t blame him, it’s not his best line. But thankfully, he’s spared from what is sure to be a sarcastic quip from Scott when Allison hurries in. Stiles raises a hand up, waving along with Scott to get the girl’s attention. As soon as Allison catches sight of them, the faint worried expression on her face gives way to a bright smile.  


Soon enough, Scott and Allison are whispering to each other, leaving Stiles alone with his thoughts for the moment. He thinks about the day past and how he had returned home thinking that he would simply skip today’s meeting. It's not like he had signed his name or anything so Stiles didn't really have an obligation to show up.  


But then his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had gone from googling Derek Hale to watching his videos. The man had competed in several competitions growing up. Stiles knew next to nothing about ballroom dancing but watching a young Derek making his way across a dance floor at 15? It had been _incredible_. Stiles is surprised that the man hasn’t gone professional already!  


From there Stiles went on to watch a ton of ballroom dances, professional level stuff along with a good dose of Dancing with the Stars, the whole time trying his best to imagine Derek wearing the lead's costumes.  


In the end, Stiles decided that he'd stick around for the eye candy. How difficult can ballroom dancing be anyways? It wasn't like Derek would teach them all the fancy ballroom dancing; they were high school kids in the end. He'd probably teach them the simple stuff that Stiles could pull off with some minimal effort _and_ get something to put down on his college application.  


What better win-win situation was there?  


The hub-bub quiets as Ms. Morell and Derek take the stage. There's a smattering of giggles that quickly dies down as she begins to speak. Stiles pays vague attention to her words, focusing instead on Derek and his wardrobe. The loose slacks and Henley combination is just _deadly_.  


Stiles' eyes trace Derek's muscles while Ms. Morell welcomes them all, thanks them for their interest, asks Derek to take center stage. Huh. Stiles wonders why the man looks like he's one wrong comment away from snapping at someone. It's a far cry to his friendly attitude from the day before.  


Derek's eyes roam over the crowd, meeting Stiles’ for a quick second before they move on. Stiles frowns slightly as Derek’s eyes shift to the side and hover there, a tiny frown pulling his eyebrows down. So he leans forward to guess who Derek is frowning at. Allison is looking down at her nails, using her thumb nail to clean under the other nails. Scott is up on his toes, trying to get a better look at the stage and the other students are in a similar state of mild curiosity.  


"My name is Derek Hale, you already know Ms. Morell." Derek suddenly speaks up, making Stiles’ head turn back towards the stage. The teacher smiles and gives the crowd a tiny wave. "Together we'll be teaching you guys how to ballroom dance. Over the course of the next two months, you'll learn how to waltz, rumba, and the tango if possible. I hope that everyone will put their best foot forward in terms of effort."  


Stiles tries not to join the few people who snicker or grin at the pun. A good part of the crowd looks interested, murmuring excitedly to each other. Most of the girls are staring dreamily at Derek as he speaks quietly with Ms. Morell for a few minutes. “That’s a lot of dances.” Scott says worriedly. “How’re we gonna learn them all?”  


“Don’t worry about that. A few months is more than enough time to learn them all.” Allison reassures her boyfriend.  


"Alright," Derek declares, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "I want everyone to line up on the side here.” The man gestures towards the far right, continuing to speak as the students begin to move. Stiles makes sure to stick next to Allison and Scott, half an ear towards Derek. “Make sure that you’re not standing too close to the people next to you. Keep them at arm’s length. We’re not going to do anything fancy today, just some basic steps that’s a lot more like walking front and back.”     


There’s a lot of nudging and variations on ‘move’ before everyone’s lined on the right side of the auditorium. Ms. Morell is already down on the floor with the rest of them, pinning her hair up as Derek fiddles with the stereo resting on the corner of the stage.  


In less than a minute, Derek hops down from the stage, by passing the steps on the side. He comes to stand next to Ms. Morell, hands on his hips. “Before we start, lets go over some basics.” Ms. Morell starts, rolling her shoulders back. “Don’t look down when you’re dancing. You should keep your head up and your back straight. Naturally this means that you can’t slouch.”  


She smiles as Derek takes over, taking a step behind her before he brings her arms up. “The most important thing to remember when it comes to posture is to keep your elbow in line with your shoulder.” He points at the female teacher’s arm, fingers resting gentle under her elbow.  


Several students raise their arms up, copying the female teacher’s pose as Derek continues, “Keep in mind you’ll be holding your partner’s hand in your right hand. Girls keep their left hand on their partner’s bicep. Boys on their partner’s shoulder blade.” Stiles makes a small face as he tries to imagine holding a girl in his arms, where would the shoulder blade be? Wait, what if the girl is really short? How can the elbow and shoulder be in line then?  


Ms. Morell speaks up again, “And last but not least, you should wear comfortable shoes when dancing. One’s that will stay on. That means no flip flops. Sorry, Greenberg.” There’s a sigh down the line on Stiles’ left. “And girls, if you’re going to wear heels, make sure that they’re your most comfortable pair and have a good grip.”  


"Now, I want you all to pay close attention."  Derek says as he nods at Ms. Morell, who returns the small gesture. “Most dances have a simple heel-toe step when you step forward. Toe-heel when moving back.” Derek explains as Ms. Morell demonstrates, moving with the music. As the lady repeats the moves a few times for the students, Derek warns them not to put too much weight on the toe or heel when moving or else they’ll wobble and fall. “Once you’ve got the hang of the heel-toe and toe-heel, you can try a side to side step where you shift from toe to toe,” Ms. Morell helpfully demonstrates this as Derek points at her feet. “keeping your weight forward before settling halfway.”  


Scott leans towards him and whispers, “Looks easy enough.” Stiles nods in agreement, already visualizing the steps in his head. Heel-toe forward, toe-heel back. Easy as breathing.  


As the students look down at their feet and mumble under their breath, some of them trying the move while standing, Derek walks over to the stereo. Ms. Morell sweeps her hands out, gesturing at the students as she says, “Now it’s your turn. Just take it easy and have fun! And remember the basics.”  


No looking down, elbows in line with his shoulder, back straight and no slouching. Stiles raises his hands up after tossing an amused ‘can you believe we’re gonna do this?’ look at his best friend. Scott playfully grimaces before raising his hands as well, raising his left hand when Allison whispers that her shoulder blade is ‘higher than that, Scott’.  


Stiles expects to hear violins, cellos, something classical to come pouring out the speakers. When he hears a familiar music box tune, Stiles looks over at Allison in confusion before mouthing, ‘Anastasia?’ The girl smiles, already humming along with the lyrics as she steps forward. Stiles takes a quick second to stare at her, blinking in surprise at how elegantly she’s managing to copy the move Ms. Morell has just showed them.  


It takes a few minutes but soon enough, everyone’s trying to heel-toe, toe-heel as best as they can. The next 60 minutes however, are a _nightmare_.  


The same thing that Derek and Ms. Morell did so gracefully seems nigh impossible to copy. Stiles keeps bumping into people who keep overstepping, too busy staring at their own feet rather than the space around them. And then there are the girls who are doing just fine but magically get worse as Derek passes by them, sharp eyes checking everyone's form before pausing and quickly correcting them.  


Stiles watches him give one girl a look so _flat_ that water would be stationary on it. With a sympathetic grimace, Stiles counts in his head. _'Left, side, together. Right, side, together.'_ Someone's elbow bumps into his back, making Stiles pause and frown at the girl. Who is busy staring at Derek as she declares herself to have two left feet..  


With a tired eye roll, Stiles goes back to figuring out how to do the basic step without screwing up. He's got his hands up, pretending that he's dancing with someone rather than thin air and starts once more. "Stiles." Derek's voice makes him jump, neatly stepping on Scott's toes.  


"Shit! Sorry, dude!" Stiles hurriedly apologizes before he turns towards Derek.  


There’s an amused edge to Derek’s eyes as he speaks. "Shoulders back, you’re slouching a little. And no need to take such big steps. Focus on the posture more than your feet."  


Stiles makes a face as he looks down at his feet and grumbles, “I never knew that hand-feet coordination could be this...”  


“Hard?” Scott offers as he sweeps by, mumbling “right, side, together, left, side, er. wait.” Stiles watches his friend stare at his own feet in confusion for a moment before Scott shakes his head and starts again. It’s such a simple thing and yet... .  


In the last 20 minutes, Derek gets them paired up and it’s worse than before. There’s a lot of toes actually stepped on, twice as many apologies floating in the air and Stiles catches Derek pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing gustily when Lydia complains loudly about her $400 heels being ruined by Scott. Jackson doesn’t help by echoing the same sentiment at Greenberg. Stiles simply makes faces at Allison as she passes by with another girl in her arms, whispering something to her partner that makes her stand straighter as a result.  


By the end of the lesson, everyone is sweaty but pleased, if a little sore around the toes. Stiles rolls his shoulders and rubs his arms, making faces at how stiff they feel. There's a few girls who’re leaning against their friends, hands rubbing their ankles and muttering complaints about their high heels. And Derek looks more pleased than anyone else in the room, Ms. Morell included. "See you guys on Thursday," Ms. Morell chirps, all but beaming at the kids that pass by her on their way out.  


Stiles however, remains seated on the floor by the far wall, watching Scott take Allison’s shoes off. “I really don’t need a massage.” Allison repeats, tone light and amused as Scott pretends to frown at her. “I don’t! My feet don’t even feel sore.” Lucky her, Stiles thinks envious. His toes feel extremely tender after being stepped on repeatedly by the pretty blond girl who had been his partner. Next time, he might stuff his sneaker tips with cotton to soften the blow. Of course he’ll have to invest in larger shoes for which he doesn’t have the money...  


Stiles sighs at his future and all the toe stepping in it as he listens to Scott and Allison flirt. It’s disgusting how in love they are. Stiles is very happy for them, especially Scott. He pretends to gag when the pair exchange a short kiss, grinning through the short contact. “No PDA around the best friend who happens to be single!” Stiles declares, smacking a hand over his eyes in an exaggerated show of dramatics. “And no sexy massages either! We’re on school grounds.”  


“Don’t hate just because you don’t have someone to massage _your_ feet.” Scott teases, doing something that makes Allison giggle.  


Stiles rolls his eyes with resigned fondness. “Yeah Scott. That’s _exactly_ it.”  


Young love, he muses as Scott and Allison begin to talk about their upcoming date, turning his attention towards the thinning crowd.  


Stiles wonders how many of the kids will be back on Thursday. Derek’s made is clear through his actions that he’s serious about teaching them. He had been brisk towards the girls who pretended to be bad on purpose, not exactly rude but still he had made it clear that he didn’t approve of their actions. Which means bad news for any girl who’s tried to flirt with the man.  


Stiles watches Lydia’s hair bounce with every step away from him and wonders if Derek’s taken. A guy like that has to have a girlfriend right?  


"Allison?" The familiar voice makes Stiles turn towards Derek. The older man is frowning in confusion, peering down at the dark haired girl as he asks again, “Allison Argent, right?”  


Stiles looks at Allison, who is smiling weakly at the older man. “Hi Derek.”  


Mouth falling open in surprise, Stiles gives Scott a bewildered look before his best friend asks, “You guys know each other?” Scott’s looking between them, eyebrows high up to express his surprise.  


Derek and Allison exchange a look that makes Stiles’ wonder, for only a quick terrible second, if there’s some kind of romantic history between the pair. “Kind of, yeah.” Allison admits in a hesitant tone. When she notices Scott’s puzzled look and Stiles’ worried one, she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Remember how I told you that I knew how to dance? Well, I used to compete a long time ago. And sometimes, Derek and I would be in the same competition. At different levels and age brackets obviously but you get familiar with the people who attend a lot of the competitions with you.”  


Oh, Stiles thinks with relief. That’s a far better explanation than the one his brain had given him. “You used to compete?” Scott exclaims, staring at Allison in delight. Stiles groans lightly and covers his eyes with a hand. He knows what _that_ look and tone means! He’s in for _at least_ two weeks of listening about Allison’s amazing dancing.  


Allison nods, ducking her head shyly to avoid Scott’s gaze before she murmurs, “It was a long time ago. And I wasn’t that good.”  


“That’s a lie.” Derek cuts in gently, grinning slightly at the girl and then at Scott. “She won two competitions before she hit 10. She was _very_ good.” As Scott looks at his girlfriend like she’s hung the moon, Derek crouches down next to them. His grin softens into a smile as he speaks to Allison. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?”  


Allison’s smile is hesitant but warm, “Good. You?”  


“Can’t complain.” Derek replies with a half shrug. “Are you still dancing?”  


“Mom and Dad forbade me from dancing after... you know.” Stiles raises an eyebrow at that, checking Derek’s reaction at that. There’s only a tiny flicker of something that passes over his eyes. It’s too fast for Stiles to catch but it’s enough to kindle his curiosity. “So I took up ballet and gymnastics after that. But it’s not the same.”  


Derek nods, looking down at the floor before he smiles and says, “Isaac still misses you.” Allison looks at the older man in surprise, eyes wide as he continues. “He keeps saying that he never found a partner as good as you. He’ll be happy to hear that you’re dancing again.” Derek looks up at her near the end, smiling harder at her flustered expression.  


On behalf of his best friend, Stiles butts in to ask, “Who’s Isaac?”  


“He used to be my dance partner.” Allison replies. “We used to compete in the standard. It’s been _years_... Are Erica and Boyd still dancing?” She asks eagerly, leaning forward towards Derek.  


The older man laughs and nods, “Yeah and going strong too. They’ve won three titles so far.”  


“I’m not even surprised.” Allison laughs, grinning as she shakes her head.  


Stiles feels very much like an outsider as they chatter about things and people that neither he, nor Scott, have a clue about. It’s a very real reminder that the man before him is not like the boy he used to follow around. Not that he knew Derek any better back then either but the Derek in his memories certainly was a lot more approachable than this older version before him. This Derek has lived his life a lot more, is a lot more experienced, seems far out of Stiles’ reach that it’s making his molars _ache_.  


He tries not to dwell on this feeling as Derek asks, "You didn’t hurt yourself did you?" Looking down at where Scott is still busily massaging Allison’s foot.  


With an amused snort, Stiles shakes his head and answers for the girl. “Just sore feet. It’ll pass.” Scott throws him a quick grateful nod before he begins to ask Allison about her dancing history. Which leaves Stiles to deal with Derek. Perfect.  


He nods at Derek’s shirt, grinning slightly as he asks, “What happened to the shirt you had on yesterday? Didn’t feel musical today?”  


With a pained frown, Derek looks down at his gray Henley as he replies, “ _That_ was my Uncle Peter’s idea of a joke.” Stiles has a very vague memory of Peter Hale - dark hair, pale eyes and a sly smirk. But hey, any guy who gets his nephew to wear a stupid shirt to work is in Stiles’ good books.  


“Musical notes aren’t your thing?” Stiles inquires innocently, blinking up at Derek.  


It didn’t look like Derek believes him. The man frowns at him, an amused twist to his lips when he dryly replies, “I’d rather eat a cactus.”  


“Yowtch.” Stiles laughs, “The shirt wasn’t _that_ bad!”  


Derek’s eyes are alight with amusement when he replies, “Then why don’t _you_ wear it?”  


“Teal isn’t my color.” Stiles shoots back immediately, a shit eating grin on his face.  


Whatever reply that he might have gotten on that is lost when Scott calls him out. Stiles turns to look at his best friend, slightly irritated at being interrupted. “Can you give me a ride home? Mom says that she can’t make it.”  


Nodding, Stiles hops up to his feet. “Yeah sure! No problem. You wanna leave now?” As Scott nods and turns to say goodbye to Allison, Stiles turns back towards Derek.  


The older man is staring at Stiles with an intense look in his pale eyes. It makes Stiles want to squirm and run away because its a little too much scrutiny than he’s used to receiving. “Are you going to come on Thursday?” Derek asks.  


Stiles thinks about it and decides to fuck it. “Yeah.” He answers, smiling as he truthfully says, “I had a lot more fun today than I thought I would. Even after getting my toes smushed by random people.”  


He feels like a million bucks when his silly joke makes Derek smile. “I’m happy to hear that.” Stiles wants to whimper and bang his head into the floor at the same time. Derek needs to _not_ act or look at Stiles like that! Stiles is going to get the wrong idea or something and develop a massive crush on yet another unattainable person!  


\--  


_‘What happened to not crushing on the person you couldn’t have?’_ his brain sardonically inquires as Stiles plops down in the open seat next to Allison, tray rattling against the table. ‘ _This isn’t even related to that!’_ His heart sniffs snootily, _‘This is gathering intel.’_  


If his brain had eyes, it’d be rolling them right now. Rolling them out of its head. Or his head. Whatever. _‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’_  


Allison looks up from her meal, sandwich raised up to her mouth as she eyes Stiles. “Stiles.” She greets warily. “What’s up?”  


“Nothing much.” Stiles replies cheerfully, “Just wanted to ask you some stuff.”  


The girl eyes him with greater suspicion, dark eyes narrowing to boot. “Okaaaay.” She drags the word out, “What did you want to ask?”  


He can’t get a better invitation than that. Stiles jumps in with his usual amount of enthusiasm. “What can you tell me about Derek when he used to compete? How close were you guys? Do you know why he suddenly stopped dancing cause I gotta say, he was _really_ good at it! Seems like a total shame that a guy with his talents isn’t dancing anymore.”  


Startled dark eyes blink slowly at him. Stiles can see the gears clicking in Allison’s mind as she quickly processes the questions Stiles has thrown her way. “There isn’t much to tell.” She starts, going back to picking at her lunch. “He was older than me and sometimes a bunch of us would just hang out together before or after a competition. We didn’t spend a lot of time together. We were more... casual acquaintances I guess.”  


The pause that follows after makes Stiles lean in, most eager to hear the answer to the question that’s _really_ been bugging him for over a week now. _Why_ did Derek stop dancing, not to mention Allison been banned from dancing?  


Clearly there’s some kind of history present between Derek and Allison. And talking to Derek is out of the question, thus Stiles’ present situation. But what’s happened in the past? What could have happened that led to Allison and Derek quitting at the same time? Surely it’s not a coincidence for two of the top performers to drop out of the dancing scene at the same time!  


Since last Thursday, Stiles has poured over any and all available newspapers and articles he has been able to get his hands on. The picture that formed in front of him has been like trying to out together a mystery puzzle that’s got a lot of missing pieces. He doesn’t know what the missing pieces are _or_ what the picture looks like. All he knows is that Derek and Allison were at the top of their game and then one fine day 6 years ago, they’d just quit. Out of nowhere. Derek skipped town in favor of New York, Allison went into ballet and gymnastics and that was the end of that.  


He kind of wants to slam his head into a desk. Repeatedly. Damn his curiosity and desire to solve a good mystery!  


“Well?” Stiles urges when Allison opts to take a few bites of her meal rather than answer that all important last question.  


Allison sighs, ducking her head to stare at her lunch bag before she glances at Stiles. “I can’t tell you. It’s not my place to explain why he quit.”  


Oh the urge to hiss in irritation is at it’s all time high. Instead, he frowns unhappily at his best friend’s girlfriend because she’s making a sensible point and Stiles should listen to her. “What about you then?” He asks instead, leaning back in his chair. “I looked you up a couple of nights ago. I don’t get why you quit too.”  


There’s a sudden, deep sadness in Allison’s eyes which she quickly hides from Stiles’ hostile gaze. “I... don’t want to talk about it.” She mumbles, shoulders hunching in.  


Stiles stares at the girl, frowning harder as he gets ready to ask why. But Scott shows up at that exact moment, sitting down next to Allison with a cheery, “Hey. What’s up guys.” He quickly picks up that something is amiss between the pair and asks, “Did something happen?”  


With a small sigh, Stiles shakes his head and grins at his best friend. “Na. Not a thing.”  


\--  


It’s been a little over a month since Stiles has started looking into the mystery that is Derek Hale’s sudden disappearance from the dancing circle. Over the course of that time, Stiles feels that he’s learned some interesting new things that, unfortunately, aren’t helpful towards figuring out an solution to the case.  


As he lazily taps his fingers against the countertop, waiting for the librarian to return with the newspapers that he’s requested, Stiles thinks back to what he’s learned.  


Apparently he’s got a good rhythm for dancing but his form needs a lot of work. Derek has been encouraging him to practice more and sign up for the exhibition thing they’re planning for Valentines Day. Stiles has promised to think about this. Which he honestly won’t. He’ll push it off to the last minute, make his decision at the 11th hour and then regret his choices. It’s a pattern Stiles is trying to break. Honest!  


Next, Allison refuses to crack and tell him the circumstances of her exit. The only thing she’s let slip is that whatever happened was big. Scandalous even. Problem is, there isn’t enough information available online for Stiles to figure out _what_ this scandal was. Thus his trip to the library. He was going old school for this.  


Stiles pauses drumming his fingers as the librarian returns with several stacks of archived newspapers hardbound according to years. “Here you are.” She says in a brisk tone, dropping the large books down on the counter. “These are all we have from the years you requested. Will that be all?”  


With a polite smile, Stiles shakes his head as he sweeps the books up in his arms. Wow, okay these things are heavier than he’d thought they’d be. “Yes, thanks. I’ll just... be over there.” He jerks his chin towards the window seat before he quickly hurries over.  


He drops the books a little too carelessly down on the table, causing a loud ‘smack’ to ring in the air. Along with a huge cloud of dust. Stiles flinches hard, squeezing his eyes shut while trying not to breathe the dust cloud in. As he slowly relaxes and opens his eyes, he finds the librarians’ disapproving gaze locked on him. With a sheepish grin, Stiles quietly pulls a chair out and begins to peruse the documents.  


As he pours through the news reports of events long past, Stiles learns several things about Beacon Hills that he hadn’t known before. Most of them are not related with the information he’s looking for and what _is_ linked to Derek? Stiles is already aware of it. He tries not to roll his eyes tiredly at the fifth article that talks of how amazing Derek’s parents used to be at ballroom dancing and how they’d won several championships.  


‘ _Blah blah blah,_ ’ Stiles frowns as he flips to the next page. ‘ _Tell me something I don’t know._ ’  


It isn’t until he hits the mid year mark for the right year that Stiles starts to pay closer attention to the news reports. He sits bent so far over the table that his nose almost touches the thin paper.  


Stiles lets his fingers dance up and down the pages, lips moving silently as he skips from headline to headline, frowning as he searches for a breadcrumb, any breadcrumb, that will lead him to... ah!  


A triumphant noise catches in the back of his throat. Stiles leans forward in his seat, bringing the book up off the table and straight in front of him. His eyes greedily run over the text. It’s a small article that talks about how one Kate Argent has been accused of having improper relations with one of her students. Stiles’ eyes only grow wider as he reads on, passing over words like ‘suspicion to commit murder’, ‘no motive apparent’, ‘possible rivalry’, ‘multiple victims have come forward’.  


Stiles immediately flips forward, heart pounding in his chest as he hopes that someone wrote a follow up article or three. Sure enough, someone did. Only they get progressively smaller and smaller with recycled information, progressively moving to the back of the newspaper as Kate goes to trial and is eventually found guilty.  


By the end of the last article, Stiles feels like he’s run a marathon. And the longer he stews over what he’s learned, the more disturbed Stiles feels. While none of the articles have given any names, Stiles suspects that he knows who one of Kate’s victims was. And come to think of it, Kate _Argent_?! Was this lady related to Allison in some way? Stiles can’t recall the girl ever having mentioned having an aunt...  


Stiles scratches his cheek, staring at the last tiny article that he has found. It’s possible that he’s wrong. All he’s got is a lot of random information that he can’t verify and a whole box full of ‘maybe’s’. There’s very little information provided by the newspaper regarding Kate’s victims, especially the one whose testimony was responsible for sending her away to prison for life. But Stiles has an unfortunate gut feeling that he knows who the victim was. He only hopes that he’s wrong.  


\--  


Stiles tugs at his shirt collar, second hand flapping the hem as he tries to get some cool air to pass over his sweaty skin. He’s only slightly out of his breath and his toes are not longer being stepped on. Progress has never felt so sweet. “Great session everyone!” Ms. Morell applauds from one side of the room, a proud smile on her lips. “Now don’t forget that if you want to join the Valentine’s Day exhibition, the last day to sign up is next Monday. You’ve got the weekend to think it over.”  


With a quick nod at Greenberg, who has improved leaps and bounds as the days have passed, Stiles ambles over to Scott. He nudges his best friend with his shoulder to get his attention. “How’d you do?”  


Scott makes a face, fingers scratching through his hair. “Not bad I guess? Didn’t step on anyone’s feet but I couldn’t get that twirl thing right.”  


“To be fair,” Stiles offers cheerfully, “You _were_ trying to get twirled by a girl who was like, 4 inches shorter than you so, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Scott makes an amused grimace at that, shaking his head lightly as Allison and Lydia join them.  


Tipping his imaginary hat at the girls, “Ladies. How was your hour?” Stiles inquires.  


“Millie needs to give up trying to get Mr. Hale’s attention.” Lydia rolls her eyes distastefully. “The harder she tries at pretending she’s got two left feet, the more he avoids her. The really sad part is that she doesn’t even have to pretend that hard.”  


Yowtch. Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up at Lydia’s tone, turning towards Allison to check if it’s just cattiness or truth. The wince on Allison’s face tells him that it’s all true. Poor Millie.  


And actually, poor Derek. As he stares at the teacher, Stiles catches a brief hint of desperation in his eyes as they sweep over the emptying hall. “Is it just me or does he look like he could use some saving?” He asks, hoping he sounds more teasing than hopeful. Because Stiles is ready to get his superhero on!  


Without waiting for an answer, because Stiles couldn’t have _hoped_ for a better opportunity to talk with Derek, he walks across the large room to where the teachers and Millie are standing. As he gets closer, he hears Millie complaining about how her feet hurt and what kind of shoes would Derek recommend she get? She’s batting her lashes at him, smiling coyly while Derek’s eyes do another quick sweep around him. The second his eyes lock on Stiles’, there’s a moment where Stiles swears the older man kind of freezes before relaxing.  


But before he can save Derek, Derek is gently pushing the girl towards an amused Mrs. Morrell, muttering something which sounds like “Better ask her about comfortable heels.” before hurriedly walking away up to Stiles.  


They meet half way, almost in the middle of the room and far away from both parties – one irate and one curious. “Not a heels man?” Stiles asks with a teasing grin, “I thought even male dancers sometimes had to dance in heels.”  


Derek’s face did a complicated dance as he tried to decide between being annoyed and amused. The end result was funny enough to make Stiles’ grin grow. “Sometimes.” Derek begrudgingly agreed, “Still doesn’t make me qualified enough to give advance on ladies dancing shoes. Did you want to talk about something?”  


Stiles nearly does a double take so fast he gets whiplash. Talk about perfect openings! But no, no he can’t just dive into the topic like this. He’s gotta be smooth about it. Gotta be sneaky! Therefore, he coolly gives Millie a significant look over Derek’s shoulder. “Thought I’d save you from Millie’s clutches.”  


Derek’s lips twisted in an amused grimace before he shook his head. “Thanks but I can do my own saving.” That. That’s a little hot. A lot hot actually. Why? Stiles wants to sit and think about this but Derek’s already moving on. “You did pretty good today.”  


Pride blossoms in him, making him stand a little straighter and smile happily. “Yeah?”  


“I’d say you’re a natural.” The quick look over Derek gives him makes Stiles want to squirm with delight. He takes a second to enjoy the thought that maybe Derek is checking him out before quickly scolding his imagination for going crazy. “Your form though…” The disparaging tone makes Stiles want to cringe and laugh, which is exactly what he does.  


“I’ve been trying,” he answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “It’s just a little hard trying to keep track of where my feet are going and keeping my elbows straight _and_ focusing on my form.”  


Derek gives him a look which says he doubts Stiles words. Excellent time for a change of subjects. “So hey.” Stiles begins, “I was looking some stuff up online and found some videos of you dancing in few competitions. You were pretty great!” Derek smiles faintly at the warm compliment, like it’s something he’s long used to hearing. He crosses his arms across his chest, making his shirt stretch in a way which makes Stiles falter momentarily. Damn those biceps and pecs. Seriously. They need to come with a ‘prolonged exposure might lead to brain damage’ warning. “But uuh I couldn’t find any more videos or anything of you after you were 15 or something. Did you drop out or what?”  


He’s ready for a lot of things – everything between no answer to a lie. What he gets falls within the range. The casual air around Derek disappears almost immediately. It’s replaced with a stiff smile which is so _fake_ it hurts to see. “I had to leave for New York. I wanted to take a break from dancing and soon enough realized it’s not something that I wanted to do.”  


There’s a scoff ready to fall out of his lips at the blatant lie. He barely holds it back, redirecting his disbelief into a challenging stare and raised eyebrows at Derek. “You wanted to take a break from dancing? And decided you didn’t want to do it anymore?” Stiles repeats slowly, toeing the line of mocking Derek’s words. “Then how come you’re here’s teaching us? Not to mention at your parent’s studio?”  


Derek’s eyes flash with anger. He clearly did not appreciate having his words challenged.Too bad for him Stiles wasn’t going to be cowed down by an angry look, even an extremely impressive on. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.” Stiles flinches, taken aback at Derek’s suddenly cold tone. “Same goes for my motives. Excuse me.”  


His hand twitches up of its own accord, an apology on his lips as his fingers try to grab Derek’s arm to keep him in place. But Derek’s already gone. He’s walked back to Mrs. Morrell, said something to her and is walking out of the hall with a stormy look on his face. Stiles sighs heavily and scrubs both hands through his hair before muttering, “Dammit.”  


\--  


With Plans A and B having failed, Stiles himself in the middle of Plan C.  


It’s Friday, just over a week since he’s last talked to Derek. Derek who has ignored him all the way yesterday. Scott had listened to his grumbling, eyed the teacher who was demonstrating a move to two couples before shrugging, “He just looks busy to me. I don’t think he’s mad at you for asking whatever you did last week.”  


Stiles had eyed Derek before begrudgingly grumbled, “Maybe. I guess so.” Meaning he totally didn’t believe Scott. It was obvious Derek was still a bit pissed at him for trying to pry. Which was weird! It wasn’t like Stiles had asked anything too personal or anything! It had been an innocent question! One which didn’t require Derek to avoid him like he was carrying the Spanish flu!  


Which leds him to his current situation.  


He’s sitting inside the Hale Dance Studio’s building, biting his nails down with his eyes tick tocking between the entrance and the door leading deeper into the building. This plan is nine kinds of risky. There’s no knowing when any Hale he knows might walk in. And Stiles is certain if Derek finds him here, he might jump to certain conclusions because of their last conversation and bite his head off.  


_‘Calm down,_ ’ Stiles tells himself, forcing himself to place his hands on his knees. Some of the fingertips sting with pain. He focuses on the sharp prickling feeling instead of the way his stomach is twisting itself into an anxious ball of knots. _‘Laura’s having lunch with Derek and the Hales won’t be around till next week. Calm the hell down Stiles.’_ It’s amazing the kind of information you an wheedle off someone through the phone.  


“There are no Hales coming around today.” Stiles mutters under his breath, taking in a deep breathe through his nose before letting it out through his mouth. “Just keep cool and you’ll do fine.” And stick to the story. That’s the most important part.  


Stiles compulsively checks the camera bag by his side, unsnapping the lock to check the device before closing the bag again. He doesn’t want to think about what kind of favors he owes Scott for this but Stiles is certain they’re going to be big.  


He gives himself a quick look over, wondering if he looks enough of a student journalist for this whole facade to fly. Or is he encouraging a stereotype here by assuming that high school journalists look a certain way? Maybe the pocket protector is too much...  


His story is simple - the Beacon Hills Gazette is doing a special feature on some of the more prominent families and their businesses in Beacon Hills, which includes the Hales. So Stiles is here to get a quick tour of the studio, an interview with the people who work here, after which he’ll contact the Hales for one on one interviews. Stiles is just glad his flimsy story worked on the woman.  


“Mr. Murdock?” His head shoots up at the question. The receptionist points at the hallway leading down to the different studio halls. “Ms. Reyes is ready to see you now. Hall C. Down the hall, second door on the right.”  


He’s on his feet in a split second, almost running towards the hallway before remembering the camera. Hurrying back to the red sofa, Stiles grabs the camera bag with a sheepish smile. The reception stares at him, clearly judging him for all her worth as he hurries to his destination. He nearly crashes into a group of couples coming from the opposite direction. After almost yanking a lady out of her heels (the bag strap got caught around her elbow and Stiles was rushing...), Stiles mutters, “This better not be some kind of omen.”  


Stiles considers it a blessing when he arrives in Hall C without any more accidents. He’s just stepped into the large room, when he hears someone ask, “Don’t tell me. You’re related to Matt Murdock.”  


He turns, stares at the blonde woman grinning at him before grinning back, heart in his throat “That’s what I keep asking my parents but the closest thing to a Matt Murdock in the family is an Uncle Matthew and he’s no superhero.” Stiles jokes, feeling thrown off balance that someone has seen through his alias so quickly. Then again, maybe he should have picked a more obscure superhero name for his disguise. Like Lance Alvers. Or maybe Alvin Draper. “Ms. Reyes I’m guessing?”  


“Call me Erica.” Her ponytail sways softly when she nods back at the man behind her, who is quietly putting their things away into two bags. “That’s Boyd. Jenny said you were from Beacon Hills High?”  


Stiles nods, happily jumping at the chance to sell his story. “Yeah! We’re doing a series of pieces on some of the well known families in town. So we’re covering what kind of business they do, their history, that kind of thing. I was hoping to get some quotes and information from some of the people here about the family and business. And maybe a few pictures of the place. If that’s alright?”  


“Sure.” Erica answers, gesturing for Stiles to follow before sitting down on the floor next to Boyd.  


Following her lead, Stiles plops down next to her before pulling out a notepad. For the next half an hour, Stiles asks her a series of questions about the business - how it’s like working with the Hales, when did she join, how long has she been dancing, just casually leading her towards the most important questions i.e. the ones related with Derek.  


“Moving on,” Stiles begins, feeling his palms begin to grow sweaty as he clutched the pen tighter in his hand, “do Mr. and Mrs. Hale come in to teach or is it just you guys?”  


“They teach some of the more experienced classes.” Boyd answers, “and they also help us when we’re preparing for a competition.”  


“What about their son, Derek Hale? Isn’t he also like you guys?”  


Erica’s expression grew shuttered and vaguely irritated, setting Stiles’ nerves even more on edge. “No, Derek doesn’t compete anymore. He hasn’t for a while now.” Boyd continues on, hand resting easily on Erica’s knee, squeezing gently.  


Perfect. Stiles couldn’t ask for a better opening. “How come?” He asks in just the right amount of curiosity, hoping they can’t hear his crazy loud heartbeat. Is he finally going to get the truth?  


“Personal reasons.” Erica answers breezily. “We never asked.”  


He can’t help but stare at her because Stile _knows_ she’s lying. He knows it in the way she holds his gaze, challenging and flat. And he can’t do a damn thing about it. “I see.” He finally answers. “That’s a shame. I’ve seen a few videos of him. He was pretty good.”  


Erica nods, eyes lowering sadly as she softly says, “Yeah. He was.”  


\--  


It’s Saturday and Stiles is resorting to going through with Plan D, as in, Plan Dis Is A Terrible Idea Because This Is So Illegal It Hurts. Shut up. He couldn’t think of another word that would start with D and work without sounding stupid.  


‘ _I should have called Scott for back up.’_ Stiles muses as he watches his dad drive away from the police station. But he’s confident he can pull this off on his own.  


All he has to do is walk into the office, act like his dad forgot something in his office, find the key to the record room, sneak into the archives, find the file, sneak back out. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.  


As if.  


At least the getting into his dad’s office isn’t the hard part, not at all. All he has to do is tell Tara he’s here to pick a box up for his dad and he’s let through without any trouble. Neither is finding the key - his dad keeps a spare taped under the second drawer of his desk. Nope. The actual problem is sneaking into the records room without anyone seeing him and finding the right file. Which means he’ll have to figure out how to get into the record room and then find the file - all easier said than done.  


Stiles isn’t sure why he’s going through so much trouble to rule out his suspicions. Maybe it’s because his suspicions often turn out to be true. Creepy feeling about the lady across the street? Drug dealer. Told Scott Matt gave him the creeps? Stalker with a camera. Etc etc.  


_‘Could still be wrong.’_ Stiles muses as he waits a beat for Johnson to walk away before quickly sneaking over to the record room. As he slips the key into the lock and twists, Stiles’ heart beats a mile a minute, feeling increasingly nervous as he comes closer and closer to finding the truth.  


It takes him a few minutes to figure out where he can hope to find the file (or files) he’s looking for. And as he checks the boxes, grimacing at the terrible penmanship, Stiles hopes so terribly hard that he’s wrong.  


When he finds the right box of files, Stiles’ hesitates and wonders what he hopes to find. _‘That Derek wasn’t one of Kate’s victims.’_ He thinks, swallowing hard past his dry throat. It hurts when he does it again, hands shaking as they pull the dusty box off the shelf. _‘Please don’t let his name be in here.’_ Stiles prays once again as he opens the first file, coughing slightly at the dust that rises.  


Forgetting about his surroundings, Stiles tilts the file towards the light hanging overhead several feet away and reads. He reads one report after another, heart in his throat as he hopes, hopes and hopes. Only to feel his breath catch when he finds Derek’s name as the primary witness. After that, it’s greedy curiosity which makes him pour through the rest of the file, wanting to know everything about the case. He digs through the file in search of Derek’s testimony, making a face at the tape and curses himself for not bringing a portable tape player. Instead he searches for a written transcript and pours through it.  


He feels sick all the way down to his stomach, the unsettling feeling churning around, slick and greasy in a way which makes Stiles want to throw up. It’s as bad as he’d thought. It’s worse than he’d imagined. Sitting on the cold hard floor, Stiles tries to imagine a Derek younger than himself sitting in one of the interrogation rooms, talking about Kate approaching him and offering him ‘special’ practice. He wonders if Derek’s voice shook when he admitted to being attracted to Kate. Did he stutter when talking about their various meetings, all secret and nc-17 in nature.  


Stiles feels bile crawling up his gullet as he reads on, mingling with the guilt that’s long made home at the back of his throat. He _now_ understands Derek’s reluctance to talk about his past. He _now_ understands why Derek and Allison both left. He can’t imagine how they must have felt once the truth had come out (Ashamed? Angry? Relieved?) but he _can_ understand why they’d walked away and never looked back.  


And he feels like a _heel_.  


Stiles really _hates_ being right. He flips the page, glancing over the last of Derek’s testimony when a shadow falls over him. Freezing, he slowly swivels his head around and looks up into his dad’s thunderous face.  


“Ummm. I can explain?” He tries weakly.  


“I don’t want to hear it.” His dad’s angry tone makes Stiles flinch and hurriedly snap the file shut. “In my office. Right now.”  


Without waiting a beat, Stiles jumps up to his feet, realizing a split second too late how his actions are going to make the file contents scatter around him. He cringes at the face his dad makes at the mess he’s made. “I can fix that.”  


But his dad shoots him an angry glare. “I’ll clean this up. Give me the key and get to my office. _Now._ ”  


Feeling like he’s well and truly stepped in it, Stile meekly hands the room key over before slipping out. He ignores everyone in his path as he makes a beeline for his dad’s office, slinking into the empty seat across his dad’s and waits. As he waits for his dad to come back, Stiles scratches at his thighs and knees, picks his nails, bites both thumbnails down to skin and hisses when he draws blood.  


He’s still sucking on his thumb tip when his dad comes in, closing the door behind him. Shit. Stiles slides lower in his seat, stinging thumb tip forgotten as his dad takes his seat and stares at him.  


“Mind explaining what you were doing going through old case files?” The deliberately neutral tone makes Stiles want to curl into himself, turn into a ball and roll into an ocean to drown himself. His dad only takes that tone when he’s _seriously_ pissed off and holding himself back.  


_Shit_.  


Stiles runs his tongue over his dry lips, gathers his courage and figures that telling the truth is in his best interest. “I was following up on a hunch.”  


“A hunch?” His dad repeats slowly.  


Nodding, Stiles quickly explains – about Derek teaching them, how good Derek is at dancing, how Stiles had checked some of Derek’s performances out online and grown curious why a talented dancer like Derek would drop out so suddenly. His voice goes from confident to meek the longer his dad’s watches him with that neutral expression.  


At the end of it, his dad lowers his steepled fingers. “So you’re telling me the entire reason you broke into the archives was to follow up on a hunch you had?” The sharp angry edge to the question makes Stiles flinch and slide down in his seat. “That you looked into something Derek _specifically said_ he didn’t want to talk about?”  


“It’s because he wasn’t talking about it that I had to do this!”  


His dad cuts his argument off with an angry frown. “You had no right to go looking into his past Stiles. Least of through official police records! The _last_ thing you should have done was what you just did!”  


Stiles can’t help but turn his glare a few feet to his dad’s left, feeling guilty and angry at the same time. “What else was I supposed to do?” he asks.  


“Not this.” His dad answers firmly. “You should have respected his decision. How would you feel if someone did this to you about your mom?”  


It’s like someone slipped an ice cube down his back. Stricken, he gazes back at his dad, distantly aware of his mouth falling open as it tries to form words but fails. If anyone did what he had done to find out how his mom had died…  


“Go home.” Stiles shamefully turns his eyes down when his dad gets out of his seat, walking past him to open the door of his office. “We’ll talk about your punishment then. It goes without saying that you’re grounded.”  


\--  


He’s grounded for a month – no car privileges, no Internet if it’s not homework, no Scott coming over to play games and expected to be back home right after school (except Thursday’s, when he’s supposed to leave as soon as dance class is over). His dad drops him off in the morning and picks him up. Stiles feels like he’s a kid again. It’s one hell of a shitty feeling on top of feeling like the world’s biggest ass.  


Naturally, it gets worse.  


Come Thursday, Stiles’ paranoia is warring with his reasoning. A good part of him wondersworriesfrets that Derek has someone realized what he’s done and is going to rip him a new one. But Stiles calms himself down by reminding himself the only people who know what he’s done are himself and his dad. And there’s no way his dad would let something like that slip.  


Right?  


So he’s a big ball of nerves when he steps into the auditorium, eyes looking around for Scott or any other familiar face. Stiles’ is wondering if he’s early or if Scott and Allison are late when he catches sight of a familiar couple stepping into the large room with Derek and Ms. Morrell - Erica and Boyd.  


“Shit!” Stiles hisses, ducking behind Greenberg (who warily asks him, “If this is some weird scheme to get out of dancing today, I’m not helping you Stiles.”). The next hour is hands down the most nerve wracking 60 minutes of Stiles’ life. And never has he been more aware of his 5 feet 11 inches height. Stiles has liked being so tall but now that he needs to keep himself hidden from someone’s gaze? Lets just say it’s an actual pain in the back and he’s going to need a massage or something. A long hot bath _at least_.  


Everytime Boyd or Erica look his way, Stiles looks the other way (startling his partner every time). A few times he even crouches down behind them, making Lydia ask, “Is this some new ploy to get under my skirt? I didn’t think you had the guts to go for the literal and most straightforward way.” He threw her a dirty look for that one.  


Somehow, and Stiles is _extremely_ grateful for this miracle, the pair don’t seem to catch sight of him. Okay, there was the tiny scare he’d had when he’d caught Erica staring at him but she hadn’t approached him or pointed his out so maybe Stiles was safe. Another miracle which had occurred - Derek remained close by during the whole lesson. Meaning whenever Stiles needed to be corrected, the older man was there with advice and instruction.  


As he’s making his way out, Stiles feels the exact opposite of how he had when he’d walked in. He feels like he’s back to normal, happy and like he’s walking on air. Erica and Boyd hadn’t recognized him, Derek’s unaware of how he’d poked his nose into his past and the man had praised his progress, even saying “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ll do at the exhibition.”.  


“I know what he said Stiles,” Scott cuts him off, “You’ve told me this four times already.”  


“Four times _since lunch_. We’re not even counting before that.” Allison teases, grinning hard enough to showcase her dimples at the weak glare Stiles throws their way.  


Stiles points at the pair, hoping his face isn’t as red as he fears it is. “Hey remember the time I played messenger when your parents didn’t want you dating Scott? All _week_?” He’s allowed to gloat dammit! It’s not every day where the object of your affections praises and half flirts with you! Stiles needs a moment to process. Like five. Yeah, he’d like five moments to process and another five to just roll around giddily.  


Scott lets go of Allison long enough to hold both hands up, laughing. “Fine, fine. You win. Oh hey, speak of the devil. Isn’t that his car?”  


What? Stiles turns to look, following Scott’s nod and yeah, there’s Derek’s Camaro. The object of many a teenage fantasy, including Stiles. “Wonder what he’s doing here...” He wonders aloud, already trying to cook a scheme or two up where he could ‘accidentally’ bump into Derek and walk him back to his car.  


But there’s no need for schemes apparently because as soon as Derek is out of his car, he takes his aviators off (bow chika wow wow seriously) and looks around. “Is he looking for someone?” Allison asks, pushing herself up to her toes to get a better look.  


“Maybe he’s here to pick someone up?”  


It’s plausible. Wasn’t there a younger Hale around their age? Dora or something? Did she even go to their school? Stiles’ brain continues to run a mile a minute, screeching to a halt when he thinks his eyes meet with Derek’s. Wait. Derek’s walking towards them? Stiles turns to look behind him, finding no one sharing the bench with them. Is it him then?  


“Guys? I’m not imagining him walking over to us right?” His voice is high with disbelieving wonder.  


“I think he is. Scott.” Allison is on her feet in a split second, hand gripping Scott’s.  


Stiles is tempted to grab the girl and kiss her in relief. “What?” Scott asks, blinking dumbly as Allison shoves his bag into his arms. “Are we going? I thought-”  


“We’re going to give Stiles and Derek some privacy.”  


The fact clicks in Scott’s brain, understanding flooding his expression in a heartbeat. “Gotcha. We’ll just...” With a quick thumbs up at his best friend, which Stiles returns, Scott departs hand in hand with Allison. He’s got the best friends, he really does.  


He’s done wiping his sweaty palms dry against his thighs when Derek stands before him, quick eyes taking in Stiles’ casual sitting on the wooden table before taking in the empty benches. “Waiting for someone?” Derek finally asks.  


“Kind of. Waiting for my dad to pick me up. What are you doing here? Here to meet Ms. Morrell?”  


He smiles at Derek, anticipating a warm answer much like he’d gotten yesterday when inquiring about Derek’s day. But instead, the older man glances around them and the gazes lingering curiously on them.    


A faint warning bell rings deep in Stiles’ brain, whispering that something is wrong. Derek looks tense and unhappy. _‘Scratch that. He actually looks really pissed off_.’ Stiles thinks, stomach twisting into a knot. “Derek?” He asks, frowning himself at the heavy scowl Derek directs his way. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”  


“Come with me.” Derek answers instead. Stiles feels his good mood evaporate, replaced with Irritation when Derek grabs him by the elbow and drags him away, far from prying ears.  


Stiles can’t help but stumble slightly, loudly declaring, “I can walk on my own Derek! What the hell’s going on?” But the man ignores him. His grip remains tight and unforgiving as he pulls Stiles up the stairs and right outside the auditorium’s closed doors - a spot far away from curious gazes and ears.  


As soon as Derek lets go of him, Stiles makes it a point to rub his arm. It doesn’t hurt but he doesn’t appreciate being dragged away like that either. “What the hell was the point of that?” He snaps.  


“I could ask you the same thing.” Derek retorts, anger etched on his face. The warning bell sounds louder now. The knot in his stomach multiplying. There’s a growing desire to fall back against the wall and pray for God to give his superpowers to melt through it if it means avoiding the conversation he’s going to have. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking into the studio and asking Erica and Boyd about me?”  


Crap. Crap crap _crap_. Those superpowers would come in so handy right now. Stiles won’t even be picky! Forget phasing through walls, he’ll take _anything_ \- flight, invisibility, turning into a stupid _bug_! Just _anything_ to get away from this talk.  


It’s only stubborn will and pride which allow him to stand tall and push back against Derek’s ire. “I was thinking to know more about you since you _clearly_ don’t know how to open up!”  


“It is _none_ of your concern if I want to open up to you or not!” The distasteful way Derek says ‘you’ has Stiles’ hackles rising with matching anger. But Derek just powers through him, like a righteous tsunami sweeping over the beach and wharf. “My reasons for quitting competitive dancing are my own! I don’t owe anyone an explanation! Least of all a highschooler with a crush on me!”  


Hot shame and anger mix together into an uncomfortable feeling, one strong enough to choke his voice. Stiles curls his hands into fists, hissing, “You’ve got a lot of nerve assuming something like that. Maybe I was just curious about your past because I like a good mystery. Did you ever think about that?”  


It’s a weak argument and Stiles knows it. But he’s going to hold onto it till his dying breath because now it’s about saving face and there’s a lot of questionable things Stiles is ready to do to do that.  


Derek sneers at him, looking ready to punch Stiles out. Stiles wants to take a step back when he notices the sudden tension sweeping through Derek’s body, making him stand stiffer. “The same way you thought about what you were doing when you broke into the station and looked through my file?”  


The angry hiss and the question feel like a slap to the face. Feeling like a ship that just had the wind taken out of its sails, the teenager stumbles back a step. “Who-How do you know that?”  


There’s a flash of something like clarity and hurt behind Derek’s eyes before they harden again. “Laura. She overheard the Sheriff talking about how he caught his son looking over a closed case, checked with someone and found out you were looking through my files.” Derek takes a step forward, forcing Stiles’ numb body to stumble back, back, until he’s flush against the wall. Trapped between Derek and the building. “Mind explaining to me what the hell you thought you were doing?”  


He doesn’t even know where to begin. Stiles doesn’t think he can even speak when faced with Derek’s angry-hurt expression. Fuck. Derek doesn’t have the right to look so damned _betrayed_! All Stiles did was look at his file to figure out if he’d guessed something right! Derek can’t... _shouldn’t_ look like Stiles’ killed his puppy!  


His mouth falls open, moving slightly in a parody of words but no noise falls out. Derek takes advantage of his rare wordless state to press advantage. “If you were that desperate to know the truth then you could have pushed me to answer your questions. You’re good at that aren’t you? Pressing on a wound again and again until it starts bleeding again?”  


“That’s not fair.” Stiles finally manages to croak, throat dry as a bone. “And you wouldn’t answer anything I asked.”  


But Derek talks over him, like Stiles hasn’t spoken at all. “Instead of sneaking around behind my back, looking at confidential files and questioning my friends, I could have told you the truth myself. What did you want to know Stiles?”  


Nothing. Stiles doesn’t want to know anything.  


“Did you want to hear about how much I used to love dancing? Or maybe the first time I met Kate? Or how I thought we were something more than her dirty little secret? Or maybe you want to know about the day I realized I wasn’t the only one she had seduced? That she hadn’t targeted just her students but a few judges too? Did you want to know how I felt? Questioning every victory I had after I had started working with her? Doubting my own worth?”  


Stiles stares wide eyed at Derek, unable to _breathe_ because of the sheer amount of _pain_ he sees in Derek’s pale eyes. He sees it and can’t bear the burden of Derek’s words. How does Derek deal with them? How does he manage to walk so tall when he’s been through what he has?  


As much as Stiles wants to argue that Derek is wrong in doubting himself (because he’s seen the videos! Derek was unquestionably talented and the judges would have had to have been _blind_ to not award him first prize in any contest he had taken part in in his final year!), Stiles _can’t_ find the words.  


He’s not sure why Derek pulls away but Stiles is grateful for it anyways. The urge to sink down on the floor and hide his face against his knees is so _strong_ when he sees Derek sag. The man looks so _tired_ now when he asks, “There’s a good reason why I don’t like talking about my past Stiles. I just. I wish you had respected that. And waited for me to tell you on my own.”  


Startled, and a little heart broken, Stiles stares at the older man. Who meets his gaze for a few seconds before turning and walking away. He takes a step forward of his own accord, wanting to ask...  


Ask what?  


His mind is white noise, low and constant. But a singular thought creeps its way through the dull static. _‘He would have told me on his own?’_  


\--  


Stiles spends the weekend moping. He lies face down on his bed and contemplates how, at times, he can be an enormous asshole in the pursuit of knowledge. Scott tells him to stop stewing in guilt and to figure out a way to make things better. His dad eyes him worriedly but doesn’t contribute anything. It’s a two day misery fest where Stiles relives his mistakes and generally wishes he’d talked to Scott before going through Plans B and C.  


He’s certain Scott would have talked him out of both plans. Scott would have pointed out how _terrible_ both ideas were and Stiles wouldn’t have gotten into his whole argument with Derek and he wouldn’t be here - drowning in emo-misery of his own making.  


Come Monday, Stiles tells himself he’s going to fix things. Somehow. He’s got two weeks plus a day, surely that’s enough time to fix things right? The hopeful attitude remains in place even after he spills the beans to his friends and they berate him for his actions.  


“I get you wanted to know what happened but I hope you know that you did something really wrong.” Scott points out gently, hand squeezing Stiles’ shoulder.  


Lydia is far more blunt, “You’ll probably have to grovel _a lot_ to get him to forgive you. I know _I_ wouldn’t appreciate it if someone poked their nose into my past like that. And I hope you apologized to Allison as well.”  


Tracking the girl down was easy as pie. But apologizing to her? Easily the hardest thing he’s done in a while. He can’t bring himself to meet her gaze when he admits to knowing the truth about her aunt and what she’d done with Derek. It hurts when Allison refuses to meet his eyes, shame face. “No one really likes talking about her.” She admits as they sit side by side in the middle of the library, at the end of a section people rarely come to. “She was like an older sister to me. I never thought that she could do something like that. When my dad said I had to stop dancing I just. It was easy to give it up back then. Because it felt like she’d tainted it. Tainted the family name. I just couldn’t understand how she could do something like that. It’s taken a long time to come to terms with it. Even longer to even think about trying to dance again.”  


She sighs, dropping her head back against a thick book. “I never thought I’d dance again. I thought gymnastics and archery would be enough to fill that gap but it wasn’t ever enough. And the past few weeks they’ve been _amazing_. I never thought I’d feel like this again.”  


Stiles listens to her, unsure if he ought to say anything in return. She speaks a little more about her aunt - the kind of teacher she was, the high standards she held for her students and of dancing alike, the changes she began to go through roughly two years before she got convicted. “I still don’t know all the details but I think my grandfather was involved in some way?” Allison grimaces, like she’s swallowed something bitter. “Dad never said anything but we don’t. Him and Gerard don’t get along. And when Kate happened... that was the end of that.” She shrugs delicately.  


But they agree to help, even Allison, something Stiles is endlessly grateful for. He maybe or may not try to grab the three of them in a hug at the same time, causing them all to yell at him but Stiles doesn’t care because he’s got the best friends okay? They convince him to hold his horses and wait for Thursday before apologizing. Which is all well and good until Wednesday evening.  


Stiles sneaks out of the house for a quick snacks run and runs into Laura Hale in the junk food aisle. The dirty look she shoots him when he’s loading his basket up with Doritos, soda and assorted candies make Stiles feel like a slug. Or a cockroach. Something small and generally thought to be better off dead via a thorough stomping. It’s the equivalent of someone popping his optimistic balloon.  


Come Thursday, Stiles is ready to crawl out of his skin in worry. He prepares a thousand apologies with a million different words, all of them meant to express how damned sorry he is for hurting Derek’s feelings, for not respecting his boundaries, for being overly curious. Stiles even types a few versions up, running them by Scott before crumpling them up into a ball and throwing them into the trash can. “It’s gotta come from the heart,” Scott advises him as they head towards the auditorium, physically dragging Stiles with him because for some odd reason, Stiles’ feel are refusing to leave the ground and walk to their doom. “If you’ve got some written speech somewhere then it’s totally going to sound fake you know?”  


“But what if I sound like an idiot? What if I mess things up even more by saying something wrong? Or missing something?” Stiles whines, looking between Scott and Allison, pleading for help.  


Allison pats his arm as they enter the room, standing behind Stiles to prevent him from slipping away unnoticed. “You won’t. You feel bad about what you did right? And know what you did wrong?” She waits for Stiles’ answer, a short but emphatic nod, before continuing, “Then you have nothing to worry about. Forget about the ‘right words’ because there’s no such thing. Just. Be sincere about it. The words will come on their own.”  


Her gentle words go a long way to shake the leaden heavy feeling off his body. It’s not exactly eagerness which makes him push himself up on his toes and look at the stage, waiting for Derek and Ms. Morrell to show up, but it’s close. And there was no words for the feeling which wells up in him when following Ms. Morrell are Erica and Boyd.  


Many of the students murmur amongst themselves, whispering at the teacher’s absence. Stiles barely hears Ms. Morrell explaining that Derek will be absent from today’s lesson due to personal reasons, or her instructions for the day’s lessons. “Maybe next week.” Scott offers in comfort but Stiles can’t stop himself from grimacing. Derek’s proving a point here and Stiles would be an idiot to miss it.  


Erica and Boyd are great teachers, as good as Derek. They might look at him with barely veiled hostility but they are nothing but professional in their guidance. He might be pushing his luck but Stiles likes to think he didn’t imagine the look of grudging admiration when he actually manages to dip his partner properly, without either of them tumbling down to the floor.  


But the lack of Derek bites. It’s like a splinter under his fingernail, throbbing with hurt. Every heartbeat, every _breath_ , Stiles is keenly aware of the wound and wants nothing more than to grab a needle and dig the stubborn piece of wood out. He comes pretty close to stealing Scott’s bike keys and racing down to the studio (maybe even the Hale house) in a desperate attempt to apologize.  


Scott stops him immediately, rightly pointing out, “Give him _time_ Stiles! If you go now then you’ll only be pushing him away!”  


The way his heart plummets in the face of the truth is depressing. Stiles hands Scott his keys back before leaning back against his friend’s locker, banging his head back into the metal. “I just _hate_ waiting like this. I want to _do_ something. Make it better. And not just.. _wait_.”  


“It’s all you can do right now.” Stiles glares up at the tubelight, not at all comforted by Scott’s words or the way he squeezes Stiles’ shoulder.  


\--  


His dad sighs, puts his fork down on his plate before speaking. “Okay. What’s wrong?”  


Stiles quietly scoops a small bite of mash potatoes on his fork, popping it into his mouth in lieu of answering his father. It gives him time to decide between lying or deflecting. “How do you define wrong?” Stiles finally says.  


Another sigh. “I define it my only kid being down in the dumps for two weeks now. Look. I know that you we’re happy being grounded but what you did was-”  


“It’s not that.” Stiles cut his dad off, glancing up briefly to catch his dad’s surprised look before looking down at his plate again. “I’m not. That’s not why I’m.” He sighs, dropping his own fork with a loud clatter. “I was thinking to drop out of the exhibition we’re having on the Valentines’ Day dance.”  


“What? Why!”  


Stiles shrinks in his seat, not wanting to tell his father the details. “I just don’t feel like doing it, that’s all.”  


There is a long moment of silence after that, long enough for Stiles to assume his father to have dropped the subject. “You’ve been looking forward to this for a while now.” His dad begins slowly. “You were even worried that you might get paired with someone who might ‘hold you back’. You said that a couple of times even. Every Thursday for the past two months you’d come back home talking your head off about dancing. But the last two weeks, you’ve barely said a word about it. You didn’t even tell me who you got paired up for next Wednesday.”  


With a faint hint of pleasure, Stiles answers. “Allison. We’ve been practicing together for the last few lessons.”  


His dad blinks in surprise. “Huh. What about Scott?”  


“He’s with Lydia. They’re pretty good too.”  


The memory of seeing them both dance, floating across the room like they had wings attached to their shoes, is a good one. He remembers leaning forward to whisper in Allison’s ear, “They’re good but we’re better right?” Her answering grin had been nothing short of the words ‘Challenge accepted.’  


But that was before his talk with Derek. Back when he’d been excited about showing off his skills on the dance floor. Back when he’d nursed the lofty hope that maybe if he did well, Derek would notice him and then...  


“You don’t seem too happy about that.” His dad’s concerned tone pulls him out of his memories. Stiles blinks owlishly at his father, who continues to lean forward in his seat as he speaks. “Is it because Scott got paired with Lydia? I know how much you like her.”  


He immediately makes a face, firmly shaking his head. “No! _No_! It’s not about Lydia at all! And I told you, I’m over here. 100 percent!” His dad doesn’t seem all too believing of his words but doesn’t say a word against it. “It’s... It’s something else.”  


That’s as much as Stiles is ready to share. The wound is still fresh, continuing to bleed through the flimsy bandage he’s applied to it, demonstrating how deep the hurt goes. He’s in no mood to see just how deep the wound goes. Were it up to him, he’d rather just forget he’s been hurt in the first place.  


“Something else,” the Sheriff begins softly, in a tone which pulls Stiles’ eyes up from his half empty plate, “or some _one_ else. A certain Hale maybe.”  


Wearily, Stiles drags a hand over his face. “Dad...”  


The man holds his hand up, “I don’t know what happened. And I don’t think you’re going to tell me either and that’s okay. But whatever happened between you and Derek? I’m pretty sure it can be fixed.”  


Now he laughs, short and pained. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening.”  


The Sheriff holds out the bowl of mashed potatoes towards him, jiggling it slightly. Although he doesn’t feel hungry, Stiles quietly accepts the food and tips half a spoonful into his plate.  


“Everything, every mistake, can be fixed.” Stiles can’t bring himself to look at his dad, hot shame filling him as he remembers the betrayed look on Derek’s face. He wants to say ‘Not everything’ but then he might have to explain himself. “You have to at least try.”  


That’s...  


His dad is smiling fondly at him, a wry up twist to his lips. “You haven’t even tried to apologize have you?”  


“Depends on how you define the word?” Stiles tries to weakly defend himself, unable to stop himself from smiling weakly because this is an old joke between them.  


Thankfully his dad laughs quietly. “I know it’s not easy admitting you were wrong _but_ ,” He punctuates his point by holding his fork up. “if you want things to be good between you and Derek Hale, then you need to start by apologizing to the man.” And then goes back to grumbling at how he’s overdone the meat.  


Stiles’ smile remains weak, too busy wondering how do you go about apologizing to someone who doesn’t even want to see you.  


\--  


“I don’t know what to do.” Stiles complains, tempted to bang his head into a hard surface because _maybe_ that’ll help knock an idea loose in his brain. Oh look, there’s a table right in front of him. He lets his head thump down on the wooden surface, lightly repeating the motion until a soft hand slips in between forehead and table to stop him.  


It’s one day before the big Valentines Day dance and they’ve just finished their last practice with Erica, Boyd and Ms. Morrell, their spirits boosted by the trio’s final words (“Just remember to enjoy yourselves. That’s the most important things. With all the practice you’ve done, you’ll find your feet moving on their own. So don’t over think it. That means you Greenberg. And you Kathy!”). All that’s left is the actual dance tomorrow. And still no Derek on the horizon.  


He follows the hand as it guides his head up, looking up at Allison who is frowning in concern. “Did you try calling him?”  


Stiles nods miserably, “I tried the studio. I tried the Hale house. I even tried calling Deputy Laura! But nothing.” He’s pretty sure the receptionist at the dance studio has him marked down as a creepy stalker. And Laura Hale has probably told everyone else in her family about how much of an ass Stiles is and therefore, no one forwards his messages to Derek. Or they _have_ forwarded his messages to Derek and it’s Derek who doesn’t want to talk to him.  


Lydia continues steadily tapping her nails against the table, thoughtful but quiet. Scott is frowning heavily when he asks, “What about email?”  


He shakes his head again. “Couldn’t find any on the studio website. There was a number to the studio. I _could_ ask Danny to find it for me but...” Stiles sighs heavily.  


“I get it.” Scott reaches across the table to give Stiles’ wrist a warm squeeze. “Don’t worry though. We’ll figure something out. And hey! There’s always tomorrow right?”  


If hope were a liquid in a jar then Stiles is down to the last drops of it. He levels Scott with a dry, tired look because really? “If he’s avoiding me this hard already, do you really think he’s going to let me apologize to him _tomorrow_? I bet he’s not going to come even 10 feet near me.”  


Just imagining it makes Stiles want to go back to his head desking but this time, Allison smacks her palm across his brow half way down. “Don’t even think about it.” She chides him gently before pushing him back. “You’ll hurt yourself doing that.”  


“That’s kinda the point.” He can’t help but grumble.  


Lydia’s steady tapping suddenly pauses, finishing with an abruptness which leaves the other three turning towards her in surprise. Her eyes are sharp as an eagles when she looks at Stiles, and bright. “If Derek keeps avoiding you, then we need to put him in a situation where he _can’t_ avoid you. It’s the easiest way.”  


Stiles warily eyes the girl, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna lock us together in the same room? That’d be too cliched.”  


“Oh please.” She scoffs, lips pursing together into an extremely attractive frown. “I’ve got so much more class than that.”  


\--  


Stiles _cannot_ believe this. He even facepalms when Derek whips around to stare at the locked door. “What the hell?” The man snarls, angrily jiggling the handle which refuses to budge. “It’s locked?”  


And now he turns his eyes up to the dark ceiling because really? _Really_? He should have trusted his gut and _not_ opened the stupid note Allison had handed him. He’s nervous enough about performing in the next hour! The last thing he wants is to talk to Derek before that. But now, it looks like he _has_ to. Ugh. “Let me guess,” Stiles begins with a hefty sigh, “you got a note that said something about meeting someone here and you fell for it?”  


He pulls the scrap of paper out of his pocket, holding it out for Derek to see even as the man asks, “How did you know?”  


Stiles grimaces, staring at Lydia’s script. ‘Be in the music room at 7 sharp. Be prepared. P.S - Don’t open the envelope. It’s for Derek. It’ll help you. Trust me on this.’ He should have seen this one coming. Seen it coming a mile away. But what envelope was the note referring to? He looks up to find Derek staring down at a piece of paper as well, frowning darkly at the locked door before asking, “What the hell is going on Stiles.”  


“Well,” he drawls, stepping closer to the man, “I guess you could say this is a kind of intervention?” Derek looks less than pleased at his flippant tone and Stiles feels too shaken to keep the attempt up. He pauses, pressing his lips together a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing in a more serious tone. “I kept. Did you get any of my messages?”  


It’s a good a place as any to start. Derek crosses his arms, rolling his shoulders back. His expression and tone are neutral when he asks, “Some of them.”  


“And _that’s_ what this intervention is about.” Irritation stirs in the pit of his belly, like a snake raising its sleepy head. “I’ve been trying to contact you for almost a week and you haven’t said a word back! I’m sorry if this seems kind of desperate but that’s what I was. And before you even say it, this wasn’t my idea! This was my friends crazy plan.”  


There’s a flicker of _something_ in Derek’s eyes when he looks at the door, at the note and then at Stiles. It precedes the angry glint in Derek’s pale eyes. “Maybe I didn’t answer any of your messages because I didn’t want to talk to you.”  


“Well that’s too bad because _I_ wanted to talk to you! Wanted to apologize to you for being an ass!” Stiles can’t help but throw his hands out in exasperation. “How the hell am I supposed to apologize to you when you won’t even be in the same building as me?”  


Derek looks away at his question. Does Derek not even want to _look_ at him? Jesus. How badly has he hurt the man? The thought of it makes his gut churn with guilt and shame and his voice crack. “I _know_ what I did was seriously shitty but I want to make things right between us! And I can’t do that if you keep avoiding me.”  


Stiles expects. No. He _hopes_ for a reaction to his heartfelt words but Derek is frustratingly silent. But his body language is not as defensive as it was just a few minutes ago. Now he seems pensive, staring at the table behind Stiles. He follows Derek’s eyes, frowning slightly when he notices the fat brown envelope on the teachers table.  


Oh.  


He glances down at the crumpled note before saying, “I think that’s for you.” Derek glances at him before slowly lowering his eyes. Stiles can’t help but swallow at the sight. The man looks good enough to eat in jeans and a t-shirt, and now that he’s wearing sharply pressed dress pants and a white button down? Derek looks _criminally_ good. The rolled up sleeves only exacerbate Stiles’ breathing problem. And his ass.... Stiles can’t help but give it a wistful look as Derek walks over to the table.  


_‘Bad Stiles_!’, he scolds himself, mentally slapping himself for thinking inappropriate thought at such a serious moment. He quickly distracts himself by asking Derek, “What is it?”  


Derek turns the large envelope around in his hands, frowning as he faces Stiles. Instead of answering, he opens the flap and peers inside. What could it be? What could Lydia have put inside to have put that confused expression on Derek’s face.  


It’s his turn to feel confused when Derek sticks his hand in and pulls a file out.  


“Is that a file?”  


Stiles takes a cautious step forward, eyes flitting between Derek’s furrowed brow and the file in his hands. Derek barely glances up at him before distractedly answering, “Yeah. A medical file. It’s. Oh.”  


Oh? Is that a good oh or a bad one? Derek’s expression goes from surprised to solemn so fast Stiles can’t help but fear the worst. It can’t be that Lydia dug up Derek’s mental records or something? He’s pretty close to apologizing till his tongue drops out of his mouth when Derek quietly asks, “I think you need to see this.”  


With shaky steps, Stiles walks over to Derek. His eyes are locked upon the file. Which Derek slowly turns towards him. The first thing Stiles notices, is the big ‘DECEASED 2004’ sticker slapped on front. A heavy sense of dread makes the journey between the sticker and the name on top of the file seem miles long instead of inches. Stiles stares at his mother’s name, wondering, _‘What the hell?’_  


“Stiles?” Derek quietly asks, “Did you do this?”  


Even as he dumbly shakes his head, Stiles’ brain frantically tries to process this information. Why would Lydia want Derek to see his mom’s file? Where had she even gotten it from? _‘Scott.’_ That’s apparent enough. Although how she’d cajoled him into stealing hospital records is a trick he needs to learn from her. But why would she.  


Licking his dry lips, Stiles reaches out to touch the file from underneath. He gently pushes it up against Derek’s chest before shakily saying, “You should read it. If you want to.”  


“I can’t!” Derek looks adorably bewildered, looking between the file and Stiles’ face. “This isn’t for me to see!”  


With a weak smile, Stiles takes a step back. “I think that’s the whole point here.”  


He tangles his fingers together, needing to keep them busy before he does something stupid like grabbing the file out of Derek’s hands and burning it or something. Instead he cracks his knuckles, scrubs his hands against each other before finally sticking them into his pockets. And just as quickly pulls them out when he remembers Lydia scolding him for doing so. Something about messing up his posture or his pants, or both. He can’t remember properly right now. All he can focus on is the shocky look on Derek’s face as he looks between Stiles and the file in his hands.  


“It’s my mom’s file.” He breaks the silence. “In case you were wondering.”  


And now Derek looks like someone dropped an anvil on his head. He’s staring at the file like it’s a viper ready to strike. “Stiles,” the way his voice shake makes Stiles inhale deeply and turn his eyes up quickly. “I can’t.”  


It takes him a few seconds to find the courage to look back down, meeting Derek’s stricken gaze. “You can though. If you want too.” How he manages to keep his tone gentle is beyond his understanding but Stiles is glad he manages it.  


He wants to articulate that this is the whole point of this. That Derek’s got access to one of Stiles’ best kept secret. And if wants, he can balance the scales between them. But will he though?  


Derek stares long and hard at the file, pressing his lips together so hard his mouth is nothing but a long slash on his face. “Did you know about this?” He finally asks, looking up at Stiles with a hard look.  


Stiles raises both brows up questionably, looking at the file Derek is holding up before realizing that’s what Derek is referring too. He shakes his head, “I didn’t. I guess that was the whole point of this.”  


“I’m not sure I feel comfortable about this.”  


He can’t help but smile weakly at Derek’s muttered words, a tinge of self loathing coating his reply. “I guess that makes you a better person than me then.”  


The way Derek’s eyes flash with anger and surprise at his words nearly make Stiles take a step back. He looks down at the file, focusing on it with all his effort. It’s not too thick for a medical file but it’s still thick enough. It’s a history of his mom’s life, of her battle with dementia. If it were up to him, he’d stick it somewhere no one could find it.  


And now it’s in the hands of the person he thinks he likes. Stiles swallows hard, wondering how he can lessen the hurt of this moment. Is that even possible? He’ll try anyways.  


He opens his mouth to explain it all, to tell Derek about his mom’s symptoms, diagnosis, fight - everything. It’s a story only Scott knows, besides his dad and his mom’s doctors that is. But Derek slips the file back into the envelope before he can get another word out.  


Stiles stares at the envelope Derek is holding out towards him.  


“What?”  


He feels foolish and dumb when Derek shakes the envelope slightly, clearly wanting Stiles to accept it. Stiles clumsily takes the envelope and the file inside it into his hands, still staring questioningly up at Derek.  


Derek meets his confused gaze steadily. “You should take that back. Or ask your friend to. I don’t want to know.” A crack appears in his expression, something vulnerable before Derek quickly hides it. “I’d rather hear it from you. Whenever you want me to know. _If_ you want to tell me.”  


Hope flares in his chest, like a burst of heat. “You want to hear it from me?” So sue him for sounding so damned hopeful okay? Stiles has been thinking for half a month how he’d fucked this up, whatever this tremulous thing between them is. And now here’s Derek, forgiving him.  


This _is_ Derek forgiving him right?  


Stiles licks his lips, swallowing past the frog in his throat. “Does this mean you forgive me? Because I really am sorry! I ju-”  


He pauses when Derek reaches out to touch his wrist, gentle but meaningful. Stiles stares at the innocent touch, mouth falling open on its own.  


Looking up into Derek’s soft smile, Stiles feels his heart threaten to burst out from its bony cage. “I get it.” Derek’s voice is as soft as his touch, and twice as warm. “I get that you’re sorry. I didn’t think that this meant that much to you.”  


Does he mean the file, this thing between them or their relationship? Actually, Stiles’ answer to all three is the same. “It means a lot to me.” The honesty in his simple words make him shake so hard he feels his bones ache. “ _You_ mean a lot to me.”  


He can’t help but swallow reflexively at the startled look Derek shoots his way. It’s the most truth he’s shared with _anyone_ in a long while. And it’s scary. Just the way Derek is staring at him, the way his own heart is beating so hard, so fast, Stiles is scared he might have a heart attack any second now. In fact, the longer Derek looks at him with _that look_ on his face, the higher the chances are of Stiles having a stroke.  


There swiftly comes a point where the silence is actually killing him. So Stiles gives Derek a desperate little look, “Say something.”  


Derek shakes his head. He looks like Stiles’ words were a physical slap to the face. There’s even a flush on his cheeks which makes Stiles want to squirm with delight. “I don’t know what to say.”  


Oh God. The strangled tone in which Derek _says_ that makes Stiles duck his head, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. There’s no stopping the goofy smile from taking over his face. Stiles grins maniacally at the floor before he gathers the courage to peek up at Derek. Oh. When did Derek come closer to him? Stiles holds his breath, anticipating something he can’t put down in words and just so, so hopeful for everything.  


Derek swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. His lips turn inside before a wet tongue runs over them. Oh God. Is he? Is Derek going to kiss him? His heart is practically pressing against his rib cage, Stiles _knows_ this because there’s a throbbing ache in the center of his chest that just _has_ to be his heart wanting out.  


He licks his own lips, turning his face up towards Derek. Want sends heat curling through him in a slow, steady wave, when Stiles notices the way Derek’s eyes flick down to look at his mouth. Standing still waiting for Derek to make a move is easily the hardest thing Stiles has ever had to do. Because he wants to let go of the file he’s clutching onto for dear life. Wants to throw it over his shoulder, not give a damn where it lands, grab Derek and kiss him for all he’s worth. He wants to press the tip of his tongue against Derek’s top lip, sliding in to touch those cute bunny teeth of his and drink down whatever sounds Derek will make in result.  


He holds his breath when he realizes Derek’s hand is travelling up his arm, running over thin cotton in the barest of touches which leaves goosebumps in its wake. Stiles fights to keep his eyes open and focused on Derek, losing the battle when a rough, dry palm presses against the side of his neck.  


When his eyes open again, Derek’s leaning in. His eyes are hooded and dark, a tiny smile playing on his lips like he _knows_ the kind of effect he’s having on Stiles’ and he’s _enjoying_ it.  


Stiles shivers when their noses brush against each other, dry lips pressing the softest kiss to the corner of his mouth. His mouth falls open in a quiet gasp, the sound mingling with the sound of Derek’s warm chuckle.  


“I guess that’s better than words.” Stiles whispers, grinning when Derek chuckles again. The grin on his face feels too big, too foolish when Derek pulls back to look at him. He feels like he’s on top of the world when he realizes Derek’s hand is still cupping his jaw _and_ Derek is grinning back at him. And hey, look at that! Derek’s got smiley lines. Who knew?  


The drag of Derek’s fingers when they leave his skin makes Stiles lean in, wanting to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. “We can’t right now.” Derek’s quiet words neatly pull Stiles out of his happy place.  


“Why not?” Does he sound whiny? Oh screw it, he _wants_ to sound whiny!  


It’s gratifying to see Derek grin at him, like he’s not annoyed by how Stiles sounds. It also makes Derek touch his wrist again so it’s all good really. “For starters,” Derek begins, both eyebrows up in playful judgement, “You’ve got a dance to attend and Ms. Morrell _and_ Erica and Boyd would kick your ass if you skip out on it. And secondly, you’re still in highschool.”  


Stiles holds a hand up, index finger pointing to the ceiling. “Ah! But I’m a senior! And my birthday’s in April.”  


“Is that right?”  


Derek’s playful tone encourages Stiles to touch Derek in return, momentarily wondering just _where_ he wants his hand to land. In the end he decides Derek’s chest is as good a place as any. Mmm and so firm too. Can he keep his hand there forever? Stroking it back and forth, just enjoying how nice Derek’s chest feels under his hands? Whoa. Is he wearing an undershirt underneath?  


Derek’s hand stops his perusal, much to his pouty dismay. But on the flip side, Derek’s hand is on top of his and curling just a little bit into his own. A few things strike him at the same time, leaving Stiles dizzy in the wake - they’re both practically the same height, Derek’s hands are as big as his own (but not as boney) and his smile is _devastating_ up close.  


With a shaky smile, Stiles remembers to answer, “Yeah. I’ll be turning 18 in April. Might even have a birthday party, to which you’re already invited too. I’m inviting you right now.”  


Derek hums quietly, second hand tightening around Stiles’ waist. When had _that_ happened and where had Stiles been for it? There’s no way to describe the bubbly feeling in his chest when Derek’s playfully asks. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”  


He pretends to think about it before admitting, “Maybe a little. But I’m pretty hopeful!”  


“Are you now?”  


“Mmhmm.” Stiles lets the envelope drop to the ground. What’s the worst that can happen to it? It’s already in the envelope so at most a few papers will be jostled out of place. It’s far more important to put his second hand on Derek’s bicep and just enjoy the moment. One he didn’t think he’d _have_ with him. If only they weren’t so far apart. So many frustrating inches between them.  


He pulls away suddenly, frowning faintly at Derek when he asks, “This isn’t too weird right?”  


“What isn’t?”Derek’s raises his eyebrows in return.  


Stiles points between them. “This. Us. I mean. This isn’t. We’re not going too fast as we?”  


He’s not sure where this is coming from. Maybe it’s from that part of him that’s never been in a relationship before. And no, he’s not counting his _thing_ with Heather as a relationship because that hadn’t _been_ a relationship. Flings were not relationships, everyone knew that.  


“Maybe a little.” Derek concedes, half shrugging before his playful expression quickly shifts into one of complete seriousness. He takes a tiny step back, one which Stiles half heartedly glares at before focusing on Derek’s words. “Do _you_ think this is going too fast?”  


Way to lob the ball back into his court. Stiles makes several confused faces before sighing gustily, “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean. I didn’t think you liked me back much less enough to kiss me!” He tries to make a few pointed hand gestures but there’s only so much space between them so Stiles gives up and frowns slightly at Derek’s collarbone as he mutters, “It’s just a bit weird.”  


He can see Derek struggling with his thoughts, frowning slightly before he finally seems to make up his mind. Which is the _exact_ moment the door begins to rattle.  


They jump apart guiltily, turning around to face the opening door. Allison sticks her head in, looking around quickly before her eyes land on the pair. “You’re alright!” She beams.  


“Er, why wouldn’t we be?” Stiles makes a confused face at her words. Derek seems to share his sentiments if his puzzled frown is anything to go by.  


Scott pops up behind her, grinning as he looks them over. “We thought you both might start fighting or something.”  


Allison quickly schools her amused grin into an abashed expression, looking at Derek now. “Sorry for the whole locking you together in the same room thing. We just wanted to help Stiles apologize.”  


As Scott nods in agreement, Stiles doesn’t feel anything but warm fondness for his friends. Which triples when Lydia sneaks up from behind with a loud, “ _I’m_ not sorry for that. You both were acting foolishly and therefore deserved a foolish resolution to your problems.”  


“My friends.” He playfully grimaces at Derek, just barely hiding his grin behind closed lips.  


Derek shakes his head and laughs quietly.  


\--  


The door to studio A creaks open, prompting Stiles to loudly declare, “The hinges need oiling.” He sits with his back to the mirrors, towel over his eyes, relishing the dark and burning in his legs. It’s been a good lesson for once. He’d landed all the moves dead on and even earned a few praises from Boyd. Once the class was over, he’d walked over to his bag and sat down next to it, back to the wall, waiting for everyone to leave.  


And for Derek to find him, as promised.  


Stiles smiles at the familiar voice drawling, “I’ll pass that along. Anything else you want me to tell Jerry?”  


He pulls the towel off his face, turning slightly to watch Derek approach him. Appreciative eyes take in the man’s loose jeans and t-shirt combination before coming to rest on the hand he’s holding out towards Stiles.  


“You’re late.” Stiles chides even as he accepts Derek’s hand and stands up, wobbling not entirely on purpose so that he’s got an excuse to lean into Derek’s body.  


Derek squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go, smiling faintly. “My class ran late. How was yours?”  


Beaming back, he answers. “Great! We worked some more on the pasa doble _and_ Boyd said I was doing pretty good considering!” He’s got good reason to sound smug because praise from Boyd is _rare_.  


Amused eyebrows quirk up, challenging Stiles’ words without the actual use of them. “What?” Stiles asks defensively, “He did! He actually said, ‘Doing good Stiles. Keep it up.’! I’m not making this up.”  


“I never said that.” Derek answers easily, taking a step closer before sliding an arm around his waist. A new softness fills his eyes when Stiles winces, “Are you okay?”  


Stiles can’t help the heat which crawls up his neck, settling in the apple of his cheeks. “Yeah. I’m okay.” His voice comes out low and shy, the same tone in which he’d told Derek he was ready for more than hand jobs and oral sex.  


If he focuses, Stiles can still feel Derek’s burning touch on his skin - against his ribs, the back of his thighs, the curve of his balls. He shivers at the memory, remembering the first press of Derek’s fingers against his hole. When he’d woken up hours later, his asshole ached in a pleasant kind of way - a reminder of the fact he’d taken three of Derek’s finger into him before begging Derek to let him come please please _please_.  


Looking up, he catches a faint trace of worry in Derek’s eyes before it is smothered. It makes Stiles roll his eyes and step closer to his boyfriend of two months, arms going around his shoulders. “I’m _fine_. It doesn’t hurt. Like, at _all_. I can’t tell that you fucked me with your fingers for _hours_ last night.”  


He grins unrepentantly at the blush that brings to Derek’s face, not to mention the mildly irritated but mostly fond frown. The one which says how much he dislikes Stiles’ tendency to just blurt things out like that. “It wasn’t _hours_.”  


“Oh it totally felt like hours.” Stiles hums, beginning a slow swaying rhythm to get Derek to start slow dancing because why not? They’re alone in a dance studio and it’s been too long since he’s gotten the chance to dance with Derek. Like, a whole three days! “You’ll say the same when it’s your turn.”  


He tries to sound confident but Stiles is certain his red ears give the game away. Derek’s eyes however, remain firmly locked on his own when he answers, “I guess we will.” And it’s a struggle for Stiles to _not_ pull away and fist pump in delight. He doesn’t even _try_ to stop his dick from hardening at the thought of getting Derek on all fours and teasing him in the same way Derek has teased him last night.  


He’s in the middle of trying to get their hips close enough to get a good grind in and thereby convince Derek to push him up against the nearest wall and maybe jerk him off when Derek pulls away to sternly tell him, “No.”  


“Why not?” Stiles whines. _Whines_ because he wants mutual orgasms with Derek and Derek is cockblocking them for no apparent reason!  


“Because I want to tell you something first.” Stiles stares at his boyfriend, suddenly noting the excited edge to his smile. Raising one hand off Derek’s shoulder, he gestures at him to continue. He feels some of Derek’s nerves pass into him when the man takes a deep breath before starting, “Remember the Valentines Day dance?”  


With a small frown, Stiles nods. It’s hard to forget the night where he and Derek had not only made up but also begun their relationship. The whole night is a bit of a blur, bookended between being trapped in the music room with Derek and dragging Derek into a dark corner to give him a proper kiss. He’s sort of forgotten most of the dancing parts. Stiles vaguely remembers being dragged away by his friends, a fussy Lydia and excited Allison. He recalls Scott’s whispered, “Break a leg” before they’d walked onto the dance floor. The dancing itself? Stiles doesn’t remember any of it.  


But he _does_ remember the elegant vienna waltz Derek and Ms. Morrell had danced. It had been _magical_. Stiles remembers thinking, and whispering aloud, “It’s like they’re floating instead of dancing.” Maybe Derek’s referring too that?  


Derek either ignores or misses out on Stiles’ confusion, tightening his grip to the point that Stiles is forced to stop moving. “I only taught you guys as a favor to Marin. Ms. Morrell. I _did_ stop competing but I never gave up dancing all together. I used to give a few lessons in New York and go dancing sometimes but never more. Marin kept telling me that I needed to stop running away from something I loved so much. I never listened to her because I thought I was done with that part of my life. I didn’t think I could get to the point where I could think of dancing without thinking of Kate.”  


His heart clenches at Derek’s words and the distant look in his eyes. Stiles holds his breath, unable to believe what he’s hearing. He doesn’t think they’ve been together long enough to hold conversations like this but here they are. Plus there was the whole sticking his nose into Derek’s past, something which Stiles fears might rear its ugly head during a potentially bad fight but that’s yet to happen so he often tries not to think about that.  


Long fingers press into Derek’s arm, silently urging him to continue. It’s enough to pull Derek back to the moment, green-hazel eyes shifting to meet Stiles’ anxious brown. “Teaching you guys was me doing a favor for Marin but... Really, she was the one doing a favor for me. Being on the other side, teaching you all how to dance, seeing how so many of you were into it... It made me realize how much I miss dancing. So...”  


He pauses here to take a deep breath. And the anticipation by this point is just about killing Stiles. His heart is thrumming nervously inside of him, ready to _burst_ if Derek doesn’t spill in the next minute. “So?” Stiles asks eagerly.  


“I’ve started training so I can try out for next years competition.”  


The words all but burst out of Derek, like water out of a dam. Stiles stares a moment into Derek’s nervous-hopeful face, processing what he’s just heard before laughing and exclaiming, “That’s _amazing_!” Stiles laughs, giving Derek a small shake before grabbing him in a hug. His grin feels like it’ll split his face when Derek laughs and hugs him back. “And don’t hit me for saying this but it’s about time!”  


Derek immediately pulls away, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You haven’t been talking with my parents behind my back have you? Or Laura?”  


With innocent eyes, Stiles crosses his fingers behind Derek’s back before answering, “Nope.”  


“I can see what you’re doing in the mirror Stiles.”  


What? Stiles peeks over Derek’s shoulder before frowning at the reflection of his hand. Dammit. He looks back into his boyfriends’ amused expression before shrugging, unrepentant. “Alright so _maybe_ we’ve talked a _little_ bit about you and your return to dancing.”  


That’s not exactly true because Stiles has had more than one conversation with _several_ people regarding this subject matter but what Derek doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. Too bad his boyfriend seems to come with an inbuilt lying radar (something Laura often grumbles would come in handy for her job) and eyes him skeptically. “A little bit?”  


“Okay, _fine_! a lot!” Stiles huffs, pulling Derek back, back, back until he’s pressing up against the wall. “Happy? You and your Spanish Inquisition thing is _really_ irritating.”  


“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Derek hides his grin against Stiles’ neck, pressing warm kisses to the skin there.  


Stiles groan-laughs, “Dork.”  


Another kiss, this one high from the start pointing, under Stiles’ jaw, makes the younger man shiver. And again when Derek murmurs, “You like it.”  


“True.” Stiles sighs the word out, well aware of how adoring and smitten he sounds because he is. It’s embarrassing really, how much he feels for Derek. And a tiny bit scary. No one had told him that love could feel so overwhelming.  


At least. He’s thinking this is love between them. That what he feels for Derek is love. He’s still _just_ past 18! He can’t _really_ know what love is... right? But if that stomach twisting, butterfly causing, bubbly as freshly uncorked champagne feeling he gets around Derek isn’t love then what else can it be?  


That all encompassing happy feeling he gets whenever he does something for Derek, whenever he makes Derek smile, or whenever Derek is _happy_. And the quiet moments where they both sit and watch a movie, content and basking each other’s presence. Just _all_ those tiny moments which shine as brightly as a polished gem, the ones which Stiles is carefully, greedily hoarding away into a jar labelled ‘Me & Derek’ inside his heart. If it’s not love then what is?  


Gentle hands grab hold of Derek’s face, directing him away from Stiles’ neck and towards his face. Derek follows Stiles’ instructions willingly, his own hands sliding around Stiles’ waist while simultaneously pressing closer. It’s a delicious place to be trapped between - hard wall and hard muscles.  


Stiles wriggles in place, humming happily against Derek’s mouth before parting his lips and groaning, “I _really_ like you.” It’s about as close to a love confession Stiles is willing to say without the actual ‘love’ word thrown in. No sense in spooking Derek too soon. But the way Derek’s kiss deepens, and his hands clutch at Stiles? Stiles gets the feeling Derek already knows.  


Head spinning, it takes _everything_ he has to stay focused on the task at hand. It’s always a struggle to stay afloat whenever they’re making out like this. He wants to stay aware and categorize how everything, how Derek feels against him. Stiles wants to spend hours studying the way Derek’s lips and stubble feel against his mouth. Maybe a few days devoted to Derek’s hands. And _definitely_ weeks to study Derek’s body, wherein he learns _everything_ there is to know about him.  


Mmm and speaking off.  


Stiles slides one hand down to grab Derek’s ass, squeezing the firm muscles there before panting. “I’ve got a surprise for you too.” The last word drags out into a filthy moan, courtesy of Derek capturing Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and tugging lightly. He raises an eyebrow up, waiting for Stiles to continue without stopping the way his hands are rucking Stiles’ shirt up. _Excellent_.  


For his answer, he throws his bag a significant look. And laughs at the put out look Derek gives him. Like Derek is extremely displeased about the surprise involving having to let go of Stiles. “I’ll stay right here.” He promises, taking his hand off Derek and holding them up. “Check the side pocket.”  


He leans back against the wall, already missing the heat and press of Derek’s body against his own, watching Derek crouch down by his bag. Stiles licks his lips and presses one hand against his dick, readjusting it through his pants as he waits for Derek to find the lube and condoms. He might be pushing his luck with the condoms but nothing ventured, nothing gained right? And the _look_ on Derek’s face when he pulls the small bottle of KY out along with the string of condoms? _Totally worth it_.  


Stiles grins at the way Derek flaps the condoms at him, pointing out, “I don’t know what you’re thinking but my stamina is _not_ that good. Neither is yours, even with your teenage libido.”  


“Is that a no to the fucking?” He aims for innocent but what with the way he’s rubbing his palm through his pants and grinning wickedly.  


The grin falters at the sudden _hot_ look which flashes in Derek’s eyes. Stiles _swears_ the temperature in the room goes up a couple of degrees in a few seconds, going higher still when Derek slowly straightens up and _stalks_ towards him. Bottle of lube still in hand, Stiles giddily realizes.  


“No fucking. Not here, not now.” Derek’s voice is _thick_ with desire. And it’s all for him. He’s grateful for the wall behind him and the support it’s giving or else Stiles knows he would have melted into the ground at that second. He has to press his knees together to keep himself from falling to the floor when Derek continues, “Our first time? I’m going to take all night. I’m going to make you come, make sure you’re wet and loose and relaxed for me and _then_ , I’m going to fuck you.”  


Was that the pit of his stomach dissolving or did his liver just liquify? Stiles bites down on his tongue to keep from whimpering, too _gone_ to pay attention to Derek’s hands which are busily dealing with his jeans. “That uuh,” he clears his throat and tries again, sounding far more steady this time, “that sounds...” And that train of thought crashes into a wall because Derek’s hands are pushing his own away and quickly unzipping his pants.  


Oh well, that thought wasn’t important anyways. It’s far more important to push his and Derek’s pants down far enough so that their hard cocks can brush up against each other with ease. “Wait, hold on.” Stiles grumbles, yanking his shirt off with one hand before tugging Derek’s off as well. He spreads his hands over the revealed skin, feeling a rising urge to purr like a happy cat as their hips slowly rock together.  


His hands slide down to hold Derek’s ass, staying there while he watches Derek uncap the lube and pour a liberal amount into his palm. Anticipation dries his lips and mouth before it makes his heart speed up. He can already imagine the way it will feel, the slick slide of their hard lengths against other, moving in an unmatched rhythm while Derek holds them both in place. Stiles groans, long and loud in delight when Derek _finally_ wraps his hand around their cocks and strokes.  


Pleasure, immediate and _hot_ **burns** through his veins. It makes his body arch up to meet everyone one of Derek’s strokes, his nails digging into Derek’s ass. There’s nothing he loves more than leaving some kind of mark behind on Derek, basking in the knowledge that underneath Derek’s clothes, lies evidence of their relationship.  


The thought spurns Stiles’ on, moaning louder and louder until Derek’s mouth crashes down on his. With a muted whimper, Stiles opens his eyes and mouth, ready to complain when Derek hisses, “You’re being too loud!”  


He’s got _several_ arguments to that. The top most being, how can Stiles be expected to remain quiet when Derek is doing _that thing_ with his hand and cock that _always_ makes Stiles lose his mind? Second point relates with a comment Derek once made about how much he _likes_ hearing Stiles lose it but he forgets about it when Derek pulls away and feeds him two fingers.  


Whining, Stiles runs his tongue over and between the digits before sucking on them. He tries to pretend it’s Derek’s cock in his mouth but he’s barely got enough brain cells online to remember his own name much less try and think up a fantasy.  


He gives up with a muted groan, biting down gently on Derek’s fingers before opening his eyes and staring at his boyfriend. Who is looking back at him with the most _wrecked_ expression on his face. “Stiles.” His mouth falls open in a startled ‘Oh’ at that. Just the way Derek _says his name_. Like it’s a revelation, a prayer, his salvation, his _everything_.  


Stiles feels himself falling, orgasm crashing over him with a sharp abruptness that leaves him breathless. His mouth parts open but nothing comes out of it except a low gasp and he’s _done_. He comes so hard, a few spurts hitting Derek’s chest (something he’ll crow about later), Stiles wonders if he’s fried his brain in the process.  


But who really needs a brain when your hot boyfriend gasps, “Touch me. Please, Stiles. I need.” right? It’s a no brainer to take his hand off Derek’s ass and help in jerking him off. And because Stiles is such an amazing boyfriend, he helps by going back to sucking Derek’s fingers. Only this time, he makes sure that their eyes meet right when he swirls his tongue between the two digits while his thumb sweeps his come across Derek’s glans. _‘I want you to come,_ ’ Stiles tries to get across through his eyes alone. _‘Want to do this again. All the time. In your apartment. Want you to make love to me and make me come so hard I pass out. Want you so deep in me I’ll feel incomplete whenever you’re not in me. Want you, I want you so bad Derek.’_  


It takes less than 5 seconds for Derek to crack.  


He tries to smile around Derek’s fingers, groaning tiredly when the man all but slumps against him and thereby making a total mess between them. Thank God he’s got wet wipes tucked away in his bag.  


Derek takes his hand back, swiping wet fingers against Stiles’ lips before murmuring, “We should move.”  


But he doesn’t move an inch. Stiles presses his lube-come sticky hand against Derek’s lower back, realizing a moment too late the state his fingers are in and how the clean up portion of their hook up just went up one spot. Derek makes a face but doesn’t say a word, nudging Stiles’ chin with his nose before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth - the exact place where he’d kissed Stiles’ on the Valentines’ Day dance.  


Feeling unusually timid, but so, _so_ happy, Stiles ducks down to catch Derek’s mouth with his own because that’s easier than dealing with the warm feelings swelling in him. He drags the kiss on and on, whining quietly every time Derek tries to pull away until finally, _finally_ the need for air makes them both pull apart.  


The mingled air between their mouths makes his swollen lips tingle, making it difficult for him to feel them shape the words, “Moving?”  


“We should.” Derek answers back, pressing their foreheads together. That’s why Stiles _feels_ Derek frown more than sees it. He can feel Derek’s brow furrowing against his own when he mutters, “Before Erica or someone comes in to check on us.”  


The thought of someone walking in on them like this _should_ make him pull away and reach down for the wet wipes but... “In a minute?” Stiles asks softly, hopefully.  


His lips follow Derek’s example when he grins and kisses him, quick and dry. “Do you _want_ to get caught with our pants down?” Stiles pretends to think about it before giving in, laughing and shaking his head.  


They’ve both cleaned up and have put their shirts back on when Laura sticks her head into the studio, frowning heavily at the pair, like she _knows_ what they’ve been up to. “There you are!” she declares exasperatedly, “I’ve been waiting outside for half an hour already! What the hell were you doing? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”  


Stiles tries not to grin but fails miserably. Laura rolls her eyes so hard he’s scared she might strain something. “I’m telling mom to install security cameras in here.” She grumbles loud enough for them to overhear, which makes Stiles press his face into a stoic faced Derek’s shoulder, body shaking with suppressed laughter.  


There’s no words to describe the happy-satisfied feeling radiated out from his heart. No words to explain the relief Stiles often feels that Derek was willing to forgive him and give _them_ a chance. Instead he bumps shoulders with his boyfriend, smiling and squeezing his hand hard, deciding tonight’s the night he’s going to tell Derek about how his application to BHCC has been accepted and later, he’ll transfer to New York, following Derek on what is no doubt going to be one hell of an amazing comeback.  


It’s going to be _great_ , of that Stiles has no doubt.  


**Author's Note:**

> ~~i never want to see this fic ever again because it was SUCH A DAMNED STRUGGLE TO WRITE~~   
>  [holler at tumblr!](http://onelastwaltz.tumblr.com)


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